baby needs new shoes

My morning class went like this:

Phone rings. 'Sorry, guys--it's the kids.' (Everyone looks anxious, ready to help. I love them.)

'Mrs Abrams?'

I start to correct her, but the kid's got a broken arm. Or someone has given him acid. Or he's standing on the roof of the schoolhouse proclaiming that he is a bird.

'Yes?'

'I'm calling about Aaron. Your son.'

Again, I'm tempted, but the arm is most definitely at a grotesque angle, or his nose will not stop bleeding, or he has dropped the acid and thinks he is a teapot, and I can't be all, '...and my father's FOURTH wife, THEIR mother is in Indonesia...'

'Is he okay? Is he hurt?'

The class echoes me by mouthing, What is it? What happened? Is everything okay? They lean forward sympathetically. Except for the one kid who's definitely packing up his bag like oh boy, we are SO out of here.

'It seems he ripped his shoe. He was drinking chocolate milk. The shoe is actually all ripped up. And one of the other kids threw it in the trashcan we keep in the playground. We cannot have barefoot children, could you come immediately with another pair?'

She's not Barthelme. But she could be.

Briefly, some concerns:

1. The shoe is new. How do you even rip a shoe? Into pieces?? It seems like it would take some freak strength. Like those people who rip stacks of phone books on Letterman with their bare hands.
2. I gave him no chocolate milk. WHO is giving him chocolate milk? He has organic apple juice.
3. No, I can't come immediately with another pair. I'm teaching. Can't he just pad around in the classroom for a bit? Also, if you really must know, the kid came with 2 pairs of shoes. And yesterday, he was cheerfully splashing through mud puddles (sorry, French Connection dress) and the sole of the other shoe fell off. Plop.