At dance class, children frequently cannot find their shoes. They leave their shoes in a mess outside the hall, and in their eagerness to leave when their parents come, other shoes get kicked, sometimes quite far away.
One child came up to me with worry written all over her little round face. “Miss, my feet…” She stopped. The word was wrong.
“My shoe,” I suggested, having understood the problem.
She shook her head, frowning. That was not the word she was looking for. “My foot,” she began, laboriously.
“Shoe,” I suggested again, helpfully, I thought.
She shook her head again, a little impatient with me this time. A frown of concentration had replaced the worry on her face. After a few seconds, she announced, triumphantly, “One foot does not have a shoe.”
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