Sunday, November 7, 2010

Dear Lord, deliver me from footwear

I used to think there were few things worse then shopping with a woman for shoes. ... I admit when I'm wrong, and I was very wrong. Shoe shopping with three women is far worse and I can only imagine how much harder it's going to get when they actually WANT to go shoe shopping. As it is we were looking for something to do yesterday afternoon when Gina suggested we go to the mall to exchange a few birthday outfits that didn't fit our enormous children. It took us no time at all to make the exchange, but then Gina saw shoes. We've been down this road before. We once went shoe shopping specifically for me and after 5 minutes and a pair of Alfani square toes I ended up sitting in an arm chair for an hour and forty-five minutes while Gina scoured the Nostrum heel section only to leave empty handed because they didn't have anything that worked. I've learned not to ask questions while you're in the moment, because coming between a woman and a potential pair for shoes is like trying to save a deer from a hungry momma grizzly. There's only one outcome and it involves you losing your head. So when I heard "the girls need some shoes, do you mind if we stop and look real quick?" I said "of course not honey", and I bit my tongue. The taste of blood reminded me that I was still alive. ... for the moment. Nearly 2 hours later our "quick trip" was coming to a close and I was standing at the cash register handing over the AMEX having little to now clue what we were buying because only one pair of shoes fit and the others were needing to be ordered and shipped. I was asked often what my preferences were but I'm not really sure what I was looking at as my energy was spent keeping Arianna from eating a pair of red dress shoes and Genevieve from shoplifting a stuffed puppy she had fallen in love with. As for that puppy I pity the person who ends up buying it as I could never find it when it came time to leave, but I know for a fact it was covered in snot, slobber and every other germ riddled discharge pouring from my daughters faces as a result of these colds. As we left all I could do was look at the mass of boxes, scattered shoes and destroyed displays, turn to the sales lady, shrug my shoulders and tilt my head to the side. "Sorry?" Like that somehow covered it. And with that we were on our way. Next stop, Red Robin for dinner, so we can make another underpaid college graduate clean up the walking disaster that we are. And that was fine with me. Eating I can handle. Shopping. ... that's rough.

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