For Sale: Baby Shoes, Didn't Fit

There’s a (very) short story that, in its entirety, goes “For sale: baby shoes, never worn.” It’s attributed to Ernest Hemingway, although his authorship is disputed. A lot of people interpret this as meaning the baby died before he or she could wear the shoes that somebody bought. That’s a horrible story, telling of a life that ended before it could really begin, and so much potential and joy snuffed out. But there could be a less morbid explanation for that fictional want ad. What if the shoes didn’t fit, like if the baby’s feet were abnormally wide or something? What if the parents were vegetarians or vegans who got leather shoes and objected and had to sell the shoes? What if the parents got some shoes that were just ugly and they didn’t have the receipt (or felt awkward asking for the receipt from the domineering grandparent who bought them and who, if she found out the parents returned the shoes, would make passive-aggressive comments about the shoes until her child and spouse finally put her in a home for dementia) and had to sell the shoes on Craigslist? What if the shoes were in some weird material or color that the parents hated, or had some ugly design feature like clashing patterns or a weird ruffle? What if the shoes were pink or or blue and the parents did not want to reinforce stereotypical gender norms for their kids and sold them for black or beige shoes? So there could be a perfectly innocent, non-dead-baby explanation for those shoes for sale and maybe we shouldn’t automatically jump to the most morbid explanation possible. God, stop being so negative all the time.