Shopping for Shoes
When I was young, the end of every summer was marked by the Back to School sales, and the inevitable moment when feet left free to spread and sweat and wriggle and roll in dust had to be corralled and encased once more in squeaky leather. Maybe it was in part a response to a dread of toe slavery, insteps bound and chained by cord and buckle, but I was reknowed in my family as the Shoe Shopper from Hell.
In my hometown of Lawrence, Kansas 30 years ago, all of the town's shoe shops were on a two or three block stretch of Massachusetts street, probably only 4 or 5 shops in all. To my sisters forced to accompany me on the annual shopping trip, it was the Green Mile.
My preferred method of shopping for shoes was as follows. I would go to the first shop, get my foot measured, and then try on a style that caught my eye. Then I would try on every other shoe in my size in the shop. I would then go on to the next shop and repeat. Finally at the end of the Green Mile, I would return to the first shop and buy the first pair I tried on. Okay, sometimes the second.
I guess I just couldn't bear the thought that there might be a better, more comfortable, cheaper and all around superior pair just around the corner. And besides, I knew I would have to wear those shoes every single day for the next nine months, so it by-god-better be the right pair!
And wow, could the right pair make a difference. I remember clearly sitting in World Literature class, beaming at my Nikes (a pair of shoes with sufficient arch support for my deformedly high arches! Hooray!). My friends were getting tired of hearing about it, and when the class began A Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich and there was a passage about how the gulag prisoners has sunk so low that the smallest possible things could make for mountains of rejoicing -- like new shoes -- the entire class turned to stare at me.
I think maybe I always felt about men a bit the way I did about shoes. It would take me a while to be sure, but once I was, I'd wear them every day for months; and the right one could give such joy. But the decision-making process could be tortuous. (Only recently have I been able to afford more than one pair of shoes.... or one man)
And then one day in Bolivia, a bearded man turned to me and said "Don't go home. Come with me to Machu Picchu instead." And in about 90 seconds, my life changed forever. I've never bought a new pair of shoes so quickly, and with so little regret.
Until now. Those of you who know me well will not believe this, but last week I walked into Clarkes Shoes, thinking that I really need a new pair of boots, but they all seem to have Heels from Hades these days. I walked over to the sale rack, saw the perfect flat-soled Ecco boot (the only one on the rack), tried it on. It fit. Perfectly. Comfortably. Beautifully. I asked for the mate, put it on, gave the lady my credit card, signed and walked out. The entire transaction took 90 seconds! I kid you not. And they are wonderful, comfortable, perfectly fitting and half price.
I think I am a changed woman.
In my hometown of Lawrence, Kansas 30 years ago, all of the town's shoe shops were on a two or three block stretch of Massachusetts street, probably only 4 or 5 shops in all. To my sisters forced to accompany me on the annual shopping trip, it was the Green Mile.
My preferred method of shopping for shoes was as follows. I would go to the first shop, get my foot measured, and then try on a style that caught my eye. Then I would try on every other shoe in my size in the shop. I would then go on to the next shop and repeat. Finally at the end of the Green Mile, I would return to the first shop and buy the first pair I tried on. Okay, sometimes the second.
I guess I just couldn't bear the thought that there might be a better, more comfortable, cheaper and all around superior pair just around the corner. And besides, I knew I would have to wear those shoes every single day for the next nine months, so it by-god-better be the right pair!
And wow, could the right pair make a difference. I remember clearly sitting in World Literature class, beaming at my Nikes (a pair of shoes with sufficient arch support for my deformedly high arches! Hooray!). My friends were getting tired of hearing about it, and when the class began A Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich and there was a passage about how the gulag prisoners has sunk so low that the smallest possible things could make for mountains of rejoicing -- like new shoes -- the entire class turned to stare at me.
I think maybe I always felt about men a bit the way I did about shoes. It would take me a while to be sure, but once I was, I'd wear them every day for months; and the right one could give such joy. But the decision-making process could be tortuous. (Only recently have I been able to afford more than one pair of shoes.... or one man)
And then one day in Bolivia, a bearded man turned to me and said "Don't go home. Come with me to Machu Picchu instead." And in about 90 seconds, my life changed forever. I've never bought a new pair of shoes so quickly, and with so little regret.
Until now. Those of you who know me well will not believe this, but last week I walked into Clarkes Shoes, thinking that I really need a new pair of boots, but they all seem to have Heels from Hades these days. I walked over to the sale rack, saw the perfect flat-soled Ecco boot (the only one on the rack), tried it on. It fit. Perfectly. Comfortably. Beautifully. I asked for the mate, put it on, gave the lady my credit card, signed and walked out. The entire transaction took 90 seconds! I kid you not. And they are wonderful, comfortable, perfectly fitting and half price.
I think I am a changed woman.