In Her Shoes
In Her Shoes, or something like that... ( and this has absolutely nothing to do with the movie that has the same title.
Here's something that occurred to me today that I don't quite fully understand. Why do women own so many damn pairs of shoes? From Carrie Bradshaw's obsession to them in the show "Sex and the City" to my own mother who owns more shoes than I'll ever own in two lifetimes, I don't think I'll ever understand it. They are not like baseball cards, saving them does not increase the value and you can't trade them with friends. My sister has shoes in her closet that she hasn't worn in years. Literally, I am talking years. Why keep onto something that you don't even wear any more? Give them away. I really don't relate to this concept of shoe-whoring at all. I mean I do own an abnormal amount of blue jeans, all different shades, but I mean I don't have 57 pairs of jeans, I have like 8 pairs of Jeans which is a lot for a guy, but it is no where near the obsession that woman have with shoes. I understand all the outfits and the matching and all that jazz, but seriously, someone explain to me why. why. why so many shoes? Most of the shoes will never see the air outside of their small box for years. So what is the genetic reasoning for the universal love of shoes that all women seem to have?
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Now I'll start something with this entry called, "Table of the Week". I'll highlight the rudest table I had over the week, giving you the play by play on how incredibly glutenous they were, and why they deserve to go to hell for their actions.
Let's call this table "Smoker's Paradise". I began talking to a elderly lady who had to put a device up to her throat in order to talk, because she apparently had her voicebox removed from smoking. The lady across from her was rude, leatherfaced, and you guessed it, smoking cigs throughout their meal. There was 7 in the ashtray by the time they were done. I took the voice-box lady's order and she pointed to the Chicken pasta as her meal. After I drop off their food, the voicebox lady points at her friend and her friend informs me the Fett-Alfredo was supposed to be the voice-box lady's meal. I clearly repeated the item she pointed too when I took the order, saying "Chicken Alfredo" and the stupid bitch nodded her head. Okay, I say, we'll fix that right up! So the cook re-makes the entree, and I drop the new pasta off to her. Now the chain-smoking lady claims that her Reuben isn't cooked enough. This bitch ate half her meal. She was looking for something to complain about. Seriously, smoke another cig bitch, and you will end up like your friend across from you. They gave me rude looks through the rest of the meal, and the lady asked for "new silverware" another "straw" and a side of "bbq sauce"- but all on different trips to the table. Then on top of it all, they tipped me mostly in change, and it was nowhere near the correct amount.