We were looking at furniture for the breakfast nook. “I like these stools,” Emma said. “I think they’re just at the right height.”

“Right height for what?” I asked. “And isn’t this ensemble more a cocktail kind of thing?”

“Cocktail kind of thing,” Emma repeated. “I like the sound of that.”

“But you don’t drink,” I said.

“True,” Emma admitted. “Sometimes that leads to interesting situations.”

“Such as?” I prompted.

Emma sat on the cocktail stool to explain. “One time my art teacher invited me to accompany him to a special exhibition at the local museum. It was Audubon bird prints. There were three rooms of them. They were really nice. And my teacher knew a lot of Audubon and his methods. I did feel sad for the birds. I’m such a softie. They had another room made into a sort of lounge where they served appetizers and refreshments. They had tables and stools much like these. The tables had glass tops. The stools had plush leather seats. So my teacher bought us a bottle of wine. I felt bad because I didn’t tell him in time that I don’t drink, and he’d spent all that money. I think it was a pretty expensive bottle. ‘Maybe you can take it home,’ I suggested. I could tell by his reaction that that wasn’t the thing to do. I felt so bad. I think he felt bad too. I excused myself and went to the restroom. When I got back to the table the wine bottle was still there and the two unused goblets. ‘You should at least have a glass,’ I told him. ‘It wouldn’t be right,’ he said. We sat there for a minute with nothing more to say. Then I wiggled my foot and my shoe came off. The floor was marble or something like that and the shoe made a noticeable thud. ‘Oh dear,’ I said, ‘I seem to have lost my shoe.’

My teacher was a bit slow on the uptake, but I gave him what I hoped was a kind of coy but sad and helpless look. ‘Oh, let me help,’ he said, and he knelt on the floor to retrieve my fallen shoe. While he was putting it back on my foot I spread my legs just enough so he could see I wasn’t wearing underwear. Then I spread my legs a little more so he could see how wet I was.”

Emma stopped the story there. She gave me a coy but sad and helpless look. I looked around. No salesclerks or shoppers anywhere near. I knelt at the foot of the stool. It was just at the right height.