I hate to reopen old wounds, but apparently I’m a scab picker, a picker of scabs. Pick. Pick. Pick. And then by the end of the day I’m left with a huge gaping sore of my own making. Hours and hours wasted in self-pickery. This is what always happens though when I convince myself that a new pair of shoes is in order.
That’s right. I went shoe shopping, again. Can I get a Band-aid please? And I felt frustrated and depressed for much of the excursion, again. Actually can you just give me the largest bandage you have?
For those of you just tuning in, I’ve already freely admitted that I have carnie feet. Whatever that means. All I know is that I’ve got them. And there are not a lot of shoes for women who have them. Someday fellow sufferers. Someday the shoe monkeys will hear our plight. Right?
Anyway, I went out this last weekend with renewed hope, in search of the most comfortable leather sandals to ever grace my dainty feet. My sister was in search of her own pair so we went together. That was probably a poor choice on her part. The majority of the time she had to deal with my wailing and gnashing of teeth. But I don’t feel sorry for her. She has “normal” feet.
As I meandered through the multitude of shoes on display, a friendly young woman with regular feet asked if she could help me. The following interaction ensued:
Woman: What exactly are you looking for?
Me: Well, I’d like a comfortable simple brown leather sandal, to walk-in of course. I don’t want it to flip flop. I want it secure and fitted (haha). Do you have anything that is akin to walking on air?
Woman: Well, these Borns are comfortable, she points to a pair that I had being eyeing.
Me: Yes, I like those. They are a bit pricey but if you have a pair that fits like a dream I will cash in my retirement fund right now.
Woman: Great (starting to drool). Let me go check. What size are you? She then looks down at my feet in amazement/disappointment/there goes my commission. Oh my they are tiny! What size are you?
Me: Trying not to roll my eyes Well usually a 5, but let's try to keep the judgements to a minimum.
Woman: Oh we don’t carry the Borns in that size.
Me: Oh well that is unfortunate. Can’t say I’m surprised though. Most shoe companies don’t cater to us nymphs because they don't believe in magic.
Woman: Let me go find some other ones that are similar, and come in smaller sizes.
Me: Fantastic. I will wait with bated breath. Woman comes back with five or six boxes and now I’m almost drooling. A fellow sales associate has now joined the conversation.
Man: Wow. Looks like she’s brought you a few to try on.
Me: Yes! Yes! Am I shouting! I can’t seem to control the volume of my voice around so many shoes!
Woman: Okay these are all size 5. She opens the boxes and to my complete and utter horror they are nothing like what I had suggested. I try to mask my disgust with ridiculous smiling. My sister is giggling. Okay this one looks really strange, but it actually looks pretty cute when you put it on.
Me: Alright. Let’s try it. Actually no. It looks even more heinous. And the rhinestones clash with my skin color. Oh and they’re too big. I was hoping for something with more cushion and less bling.
Woman: Yeah. Here’s these Hush Puppies.
Me: What? Aren’t those shoes for the more “mature in years,” in addition to being a tasty side dish with fish?
Woman: Oh my, you are delightfully funny, and so right. But they are comfortable.
Me: Well, they don’t fit anyway so . . .
Woman: Wow. You’re actually like a size 4.5 or smaller. You know, the kids section actually might have some cute stuff. My friend came in the other day and I told her that her boots were adorable. She just laughed because she confessed they were from the kids section (I highly doubt they were cute judging from the “cute” shoes she brought out).
Man: Yeah. You know what I do? I go to this one store and get their XL sized shirts in the juniors section. And it’s like half the price. I’m all over that.
Me: Yeah well, if the shoe fits . . .
Woman: I’m so sorry none of these fit. We can see if they can special order the Borns in your size.
Me: It’s worth a try. But I’m warning you, the welfare of my sanity is on the line here.
Man: Typing and scanning things into the computer. Nope sorry. He offers me a fake frown of pity.
Me: Well, that’s the final nail in my coffin. Please excuse me while I go over and die in the children’s section (You really were not helpful at all. And now my scab is bleeding profusely).
Oh dear reader. I hate to say that I've had many a conversation just like this one. And I also hate to admit that I did peruse the children's selection at multiple stores. Let's just say that after each store we went to, I got closer and closer to literally throwing up in my mouth and spitting it in their over-sized shoes. But luckily rainbows are real, and so are the pots of gold at the end. Eastland Shoes (since 1955), I'm giving you a shout out because I found a leather sandal that looks and feels like handsome trolls made it specially to adorn my soles. I heart you. The Husband says they look like something Cleopatra would have worn. That's good I guess.