Woe betide the fool that comes between a woman and her shoes
In the everybody-has-some-weakness department, I will readily admit mine is shoes. Mind you, not to the point where I’ve outsted a child because I needed the room to store them, nor have I risked my children’s health or education by indulging in a pair that cost as much as my monthly mortgage. I do have my standards. But aside from handmade chocolate truffles and Sean Connery’s voice, shoes are the one thing guaranteed to make my eyes glaze over. My mother tells the story of my getting my first pair of black patent Mary Janes when I was two, and how I stopped everyone on the street as we walked back home, gleefully holding up one foot and proudly announcing “New shoes!”
Some fifty years later, little has changed on that score. Although I’m not as likely to accost perfect strangers about it.
Unfortunately, while my penchant for cute shoes has not waned one iota over the years, my feet have other ideas. Gone are the days when I could work and walk all day long in four inch heels. Hell, gone are the days when I could walk all day in flats. At least, flats in which I would allow myself to be seen in public. My feet, it would seem, are ready to move into the Retirement Home of Shoes. My feet want (Oh, the betrayal! The humiliation! ) walking shoes.
Just shoot me now.
Except. . .what is this I see? In the Lands’ End catalog, of all places? Walking shoes that — dare I say it? — I would wear with my head held high? That I could wear when we go to the State Fair next week for the first time in a million years and not be reduced to a hobbling cripple by the end of the day? Yes!!! Where’s my credit card? Where’s that website? What are those style numbers (because — be still my heart — there is actually more than one style that doesn’t make me barf)?
Five minutes later. . .
What do you mean (after three tries), item number not found? Okay, weird, but there’s forty dollars saved.
Click. Click. Click.
What do you mean, the only colors available are chartreuse and some kind of red?
Okay (mutter, mutter) I suppose the red will work with all my denim crap. . .
“We’re sorry, but this style is backordered until December 6.”
Yeah, that’s gonna do me a lot of good. Okay, there’s still one more style. . .
Click. Clickclickclick.
Whoa. Ewwwww. What’s up with the tire treads on the soles? The picture in the catalog doesn’t show any stinkin’ tire treads. . .
rustling sound follows as catalog is hurled across the room in disgust
Maybe it would be easier to just older new feet. . .
