The Fuck me heels

So I went to look for some shoes.
Mind you, they were not for me, they were for my lover, friend, and confidant, all rolled into one gorgeous, feisty sparkplug of a woman.

So I decided to stop in at Nordstrom's.
Yes, I went to those upscale dumps for people with more money than brains (this excludes me of course, it's patently obvious I have neither).

I hit the top of the escalator and was met by a guy carefully eyeing me to see if I was Norstrom's material or not. Either that or he had ideas about how he'd dress me, because it appeared he was undressing me, at least until he addressed me.

Granted, I don't exactly look like the Nordstrom's type, but when Grover T. ShoeSalesman asked me if he could help me, he asked it in a way that made the word 'help' sound like it had at least 3 or 4 syllables, as in "May I heell..lll....pppp you?"

MrWrong came out.
Fast.

"Sure, where are the auto parts?" I asked.
"Sir, we don't carry auto parts" Grover responded, again with way too many syllables for his own good.
"Meh, screw the auto parts. Where do you keep the Fuck Me heels?"
"Excuuuuuuse me? This is Nordstrom's, we do not carry thooossse sorts of things here"
"What? Is there something wrong with Fuck Me heels? I mean, hey, I'm a red-blooded male, and when I see a woman with great legs wearing Fuck Me heels I just want to drop to my knees and work my way up. You get my drift, Grover?"
"Sir, I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to leave the store, the other customers are clearly uncomfortable with your rather lewd and crass behavior"
"She's not" I said, and pointed towards the pretty woman who was clearly grinning from ear to ear and chuckling
"SIR!"
"OK. OK, I'm leaving. Soooooo Grover, is there a place in the mall that you could recommend for Fuck Me heels? Surely you must wear a pair every now and then if you work in a place like this. They must fuck you over pretty good here"