A shoe day

I was at a mall one day when I happened to look in the window of a shoe store and spied what I thought would be the perfect pair of shoes.  Ok, what the heck, I can at least try one on.  I glanced up at the store front, noticing a name up there that seemed feminine and European at the very least.  RED FLAG NUMBER ONE!!!  Oh well, those shoes are so perfect, I will at least have a closer look. 

I walk into the store and am greeted by a young sales representative who introduces herself as an expert on a perfect fit.  Wow, that's impressive.  I say I already know I wear a size 8.5 narrow.  She glances at my feet with a skeptical look on her face.  I point to the shoes in the window, and say I want to try those, in my size.  She goes into the back room and emerges a few minutes later with 4 boxes.

So I sit down, remove my beat up old (but sooo comfy) flip-flop, and she hands me the left shoe from the top box.  I hold it in my hand, feeling the fine workmanship.  I sniff it briefly...  heavenly leather!  The shape is perfect, nice smooth rounded toe, not too much of a heel.  I slip on the prerequisite disposable stocking. 

Before trying on the shoe, I inquire about the price.  Oops, I knew I forgot to ask something.  Her answer stuns me!  Wow, I think I'd rather buy a new car for that kind of money!  Ahh well, I will at least try it on.

She reaches in her pocket, produces a shiny silver shoe horn, and reaches for my ankle.  I say, "No thanks, I'll put it on myself."  I place it on the floor, and begin to slide my foot in.  Utoh, trouble ahead.  RED FLAG NUMBER TWO!  Nope, it's not going in there.  She removes the lid from the second box in the stack, saying that this shoe normally runs a bit small, and this is the next size up.  (Whew, at least it's only a 9!)

So I hand back the first one, and repeat the process with the second one.  This one seems a bit more promising.  Ok well maybe not.  As I move around like a Michael Jackson dance, wiggling and contorting myself, I wonder what this must look like. 

At last, victory!  Although I sort of feel like Cinderella's evil step sister with the glass slipper.

I stand up with one shoe on.  Oh the pain of being a woman!  It looks perfect; but I will have to meditate as I walk just to block out the sensation of pinched nerves in my toes.  So I finally give in and agree to a fitting.

This is a tad bit uncomfortable, having a stranger grope my foot.  "Stand up" she says, and I swear my foot became instantly longer and wider just by standing in that sizer thingie!  "Well, here's the problem," she says, "you're actually a 10.5 medium!"  Oh bah, you're just trying to make me feel bad.  She gathers up the shoes and boxes in front of me, and says she'll be back in a minute.  While she is gone, I start reconsidering my definition of a perfect shoe. 

Looking around at all the choices of shoes, it becomes clear to me that I will have to find out what is available in my size and price range.  The creator saw fit to bless me with feet bigger than they deserve to be!  Well lucky for me, my 'perfect fit specialist' had already thought of that.  She emerges from the back room with 5 or 6 boxes.

"I'm sorry, but the shoe you like does not come in a size bigger than 9.5.  I have several similar styles here, plus a couple other styles that might interest you; all in your size."  Oh lucky day.  I ask her to sort them by price, having come to the realization that I am really in the wrong shoe store.  So now the boxes are all arranged in front of me, lowest to highest price.  Well that helps narrow down my choices.  I point to the first box (lowest price) and she lifts the lid.  Ehh, not too bad but damn, that pointy toe! 

I am able to slip into the left shoe quite easily.  So she hands me a disposable stocking and the right shoe.  I manage to slip into the right one also, and stand up to look in the mirror.  Uhmm, these pointy shoes squeeze my toes so bad, it makes me look like I have a double chin!  They sort of remind me of Madonna's ... ok never mind.  Next, please.

A little bit of jiggling, squirming and forcing and my feet are in another new pair.  They seem roomy enough, but they definitely force my feet into some sort of unnatural shape.  Next, please.

Slip, slide, in they go, and my feet are all pretty now.  But why do I need shiny black patent leather spike heel pumps?  RED FLAG NUMBER THREE!  It is time to admit defeat, and make a hasty retreat.

I think I will go buy my pointy, squishey, squeezy, nerve pinching, unnaturally shaped shoes at Wal-Mart.

This leads me to two conclusions.  Feet, like noses and ears, begin to grow again at around age 40 and do not stop.  And, men are the exclusive designers of women's shoes.  They don't have to wear 'em so it matters not how it feels on a foot.

Makes me wonder what I will look like at age 70, romping around in Shaq's sneakers.  ;)

(this story isn't really about buying shoes.  Feel free to substitute a different body part and a ladies' undergarment in the appropriate places!)