One of my HS (and still) friends had polio in his left leg as a child. His left foot never grew properly.

When we would go bowling, we'd make sure he was in the middle of our line to get shoes.

His turn would come and he'd say "size 4 left and size 7 right." The shoe cluck would immediately make a face and start getting pissy.

Paul would ask again. Worse response. Then, we'd all start shouting the "polio-card" and demand that he come out from behind the counter and look.

His mortification was never enough for us. So, after we were finished with our strings, we would stop at the alley's corner burger concession, get the mustard and ketchup squeeze bottles and squeeze a bit into the toes of each shoe we were returning.

We'd go back and sit in the food area and wait for the first person on the lanes to yell out, "Oh, gross!," and go back to hassle the shoe cluck. Then, we'd leave, one at a time, in two minute intervals.

Always call the place you live a house. When you're old, everyone else will call it a home.