I'm at the railroad. A man comes up to me in the parking lot who sells boots. My son, Reynaldo, about 8-10, has complained about a last pair that hurt his toe. He has his foot in a square shoe-box with oilcloth over the foot so I can see the hurt toe sticking up at a knuckle, like a large corn that is inflamed. He said he has a more expensive pair that will not hurt him. I become angry and said, "I suppose it costs $60-$80 to $100. I don't trust you. And I think your merchandise is inferior." The man says nothing but grits his strong square jaw and gets back in the car with his two sons. I drive off before he does, still fuming. Suddenly I am feeling guilty to have done it in front of three of my children and Emma. I realize I should have been quiet and gone shopping at another store. And I feel angry at myself for not giving him a chance to speak and defend himself.