A Shoe Story
So, once upon a time there was a girl. This girl hated shoe shopping. And, yes, while this is a crime against the female gender and all things trendy this girl managed to go into shoe shops, try on shoes, make her purchases, and leave relatively happy-if a little worse for ware in the wallet department.
Then one day this girl graduated from college and got her first job, which meant she needed to dress the part of a successful business woman. She had to go shoe shopping because the comfort of Keds just wouldn't cut it.
So she put on a smile and braved the mall traffic, the over-perfumed cosmetic department, as well as the piano student riffing the soundtrack to Titanic. After twenty minutes of browsing the Nordstrom's selection she picked a pair of shoes that actually, sorta, kinda weren't hideous.
Then the drama began.
She had to borrow nylon-stalking booties because she forgot her own socks. There was no place to sit because the store was over stocked with economic downturn merchandise. Luckily she found a seat between shoe boxes and display tables. And she measured her feet with the cold, metal Brannock Device all the while wondering how many people have stepped here since it's last seen disinfectant. The eights were too big, the sevens were too small. Sadly, this brand just doesn't do half sizes. Plus the salesman works on commission.
Her heart won't go on, for it's about to give out.
She escaped, shoeless, yet wiser for the experience. Shoebuy.com then becomes her salvation. Flip-flops, boots, clogs, and sneakers. Penny loafers, slippers, flats, and high-heels. Pumps, sandals, crocks, and Birkenstocks. Shoes for weddings, shoes for running, shoes for the beach, shoes for the evening, and shoes made only for runway models displaying designer "creations." All of them sortable by color, by style, by brand, by width, by height, by price, by fabric. Ninety-six to a page in all their pixel glory.
After one credit card number, one mailing address, and three days time, the shoes arrived neatly boxed on her front porch.
What joy. What bliss. The shoes did fit!
Now, why did she need these shoes do you ask? Why the dreaded company holiday party held six weeks late, err, she means ten and a half months early. Yes, that's it.
She'd been wearing her beloved shoes all day at the office; they'd served her beautifully. They even held up well from the walk from the office (via a short respite visit to Barnes and Nobel) to the over priced restaurant. She arrived early for cocktail hour. She donated her company approved two drink tickets to the office joker who always drinks way too much at social functions. And then she proceeded to make small talk with coworkers wives whose names she can never quite remember. The lighting was dim, the conversation mind-numbing, and the floor was hard.
Painfully hard.
Excruciatingly hard.
Bring tears to your eyes after an hour and fifteen minutes of uselessly shifting from right foot to left foot type of hard.
She kept glancing at her watch, praying that hors d'oeuvres could be over and dinner could begin. Dinner meant sitting down in a foot friendly chair. Food was served. Good food was eaten. Three thousand dollar food was billed, no doubt to the horror of the accounting department.
Afterward she limped out the restaurant, to the car, arrived at her home, and snuck into her bedroom.
What joy. What bliss. The shoes did come off!
There she could rub her toes in relief. Our heroine then spent the weekend curled up on sofas with ice packs glued to her feet. The moral of her story is to be sure to buy foot inserts at the earliest opportunity.
Okay, this has been a very long winded way of saying I got these wonderful new shoes and my feet still hurt!
p.s. magisterequitum, that trip to the bookstore got me a copy of Jennifer Fallon's The Immortal Prince. It's out! =)
Then one day this girl graduated from college and got her first job, which meant she needed to dress the part of a successful business woman. She had to go shoe shopping because the comfort of Keds just wouldn't cut it.
So she put on a smile and braved the mall traffic, the over-perfumed cosmetic department, as well as the piano student riffing the soundtrack to Titanic. After twenty minutes of browsing the Nordstrom's selection she picked a pair of shoes that actually, sorta, kinda weren't hideous.
Then the drama began.
She had to borrow nylon-stalking booties because she forgot her own socks. There was no place to sit because the store was over stocked with economic downturn merchandise. Luckily she found a seat between shoe boxes and display tables. And she measured her feet with the cold, metal Brannock Device all the while wondering how many people have stepped here since it's last seen disinfectant. The eights were too big, the sevens were too small. Sadly, this brand just doesn't do half sizes. Plus the salesman works on commission.
Her heart won't go on, for it's about to give out.
She escaped, shoeless, yet wiser for the experience. Shoebuy.com then becomes her salvation. Flip-flops, boots, clogs, and sneakers. Penny loafers, slippers, flats, and high-heels. Pumps, sandals, crocks, and Birkenstocks. Shoes for weddings, shoes for running, shoes for the beach, shoes for the evening, and shoes made only for runway models displaying designer "creations." All of them sortable by color, by style, by brand, by width, by height, by price, by fabric. Ninety-six to a page in all their pixel glory.
After one credit card number, one mailing address, and three days time, the shoes arrived neatly boxed on her front porch.
What joy. What bliss. The shoes did fit!
Now, why did she need these shoes do you ask? Why the dreaded company holiday party held six weeks late, err, she means ten and a half months early. Yes, that's it.
She'd been wearing her beloved shoes all day at the office; they'd served her beautifully. They even held up well from the walk from the office (via a short respite visit to Barnes and Nobel) to the over priced restaurant. She arrived early for cocktail hour. She donated her company approved two drink tickets to the office joker who always drinks way too much at social functions. And then she proceeded to make small talk with coworkers wives whose names she can never quite remember. The lighting was dim, the conversation mind-numbing, and the floor was hard.
Painfully hard.
Excruciatingly hard.
Bring tears to your eyes after an hour and fifteen minutes of uselessly shifting from right foot to left foot type of hard.
She kept glancing at her watch, praying that hors d'oeuvres could be over and dinner could begin. Dinner meant sitting down in a foot friendly chair. Food was served. Good food was eaten. Three thousand dollar food was billed, no doubt to the horror of the accounting department.
Afterward she limped out the restaurant, to the car, arrived at her home, and snuck into her bedroom.
What joy. What bliss. The shoes did come off!
There she could rub her toes in relief. Our heroine then spent the weekend curled up on sofas with ice packs glued to her feet. The moral of her story is to be sure to buy foot inserts at the earliest opportunity.
Okay, this has been a very long winded way of saying I got these wonderful new shoes and my feet still hurt!
p.s. magisterequitum, that trip to the bookstore got me a copy of Jennifer Fallon's The Immortal Prince. It's out! =)