“I bet that Da Vinci didn’t have to worry about people making fun of him or shitting all over his designs.” “I guess not, but he wasn’t making art you could wear,” Tucker said. I sat down beside him and looked at the crowd huddled around the surprisingly small frame of the Mona Lisa. “Maybe, but I think this week has done more to prove my mom right than anything else.” Tucker frowned but didn’t say anything. What could he say? Over the past week, I’d loaned shoes to four designers for their fash...ion shows; twice the response to my shoes had been lukewarm, and twice downright disdainful. I had my own show coming up in a week but considering how badly my shoes had flopped on four different runways, I was expecting a massive crucifixion—all witnessed first hand by my mother, who’d probably smile at me the whole time to really rub it in. I was dreading it so very much. A protracted death by a firing squad I couldn’t avoid. “I wouldn’t have thought it,” Tucker said suddenly.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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