So I bought some new shoes the other day.
I love to shop, but sometimes buying eludes me. I’m notorious for being indecisive in the area of my wardrobe. I often wind making unwise purchases in a last-minute rush as the store closes. That means I’ll be back shopping again soon, after I realize the outfit I put together is really pathetic.
Even when I can make a decision, there has to be a catch. Like the last time I went shopping for shoes. Big decision–shoe shopping is the bane of my wardrobe-building existence. One of my feet is half a size smaller than the other, so one shoe of the two is always going to be either cramped or loose. For this reason, I’ll put off purchasing new shoes until even I am ashamed of the old ones.
What a coincidence, at the very time I made my decision, the department store was offering shoes for sale. I couldn’t in good conscience put off the necessity any longer. I broke down and began looking.
So there I was, trying on shoes. Boots, to be precise. Since I needed footgear anyway, I decided I wanted a pair of stylish boots, with a good-sized heel. However, despite my resolution, my notorious shopping reputation was with me that day. When the afternoon drew to a close and I was still walking around the department store in stocking feet, I began to think it wasn’t in my destiny to own shoes that looked good and were comfortable at the same time.
Then, suddenly, I laid eyes on them. Brown leather ankle boots, with a nice tall heel. I tugged them onto my feet, wondering to myself if this was the day that would actually find me making a successful shoe purchase. Ah ha, no such luck. The boots looked great. Problem was, one foot was uncomfortable. Yes, I know, no surprise, right? But I mean, this was really uncomfortable. It was like…all bunchy. I walked around in those boots for half an hour, while I looked for my other options. But there weren’t any.
Then I heard the familiar call–“Ten minutes to closing.” Driven yet again to making an adrenaline-inspired purchase, I decided to take the boots, telling myself what one usually tells oneself when buying shoes: “They never feel right in the store, anyway.” “I’ll try them at home with different socks.” “They’ll conform to my foot…eventually.”
Newly confident in my self-delusion, I removed the boots and headed to the checkout. It was only when I was standing in line that I happened to look down inside the boot I was holding. I reached my hand down into the footwear and pulled out a clear plastic form, which hugged the entire inside area of the boot and extended up the ankle. It was meant to keep the boot’s shape for display. I’d been walking around the store with that thing in my shoe for half an hour.
I put the boot back on, right then and there, WITHOUT the plastic form.
You know, those are some of the most comfortable shoes I’ve ever owned.
My ego, however, still hurts.