Feet and shoes, shoes and feet. What can I say.
Well, for starters, I can say I'm an idiot.
Remember a few a weeks back I bought some really cheap but really cute shoes (see Have You Ever Looked Into the Soles of Killers?) and they sliced and diced my feet until I scarred? Pray tell, what was the lesson I learned from that dreadful experience? Was it:
A) Don't buy cheap shoes and expect them to be comfortable.
B) If you want comfortable shoes, you probably shouldn't buy cheap shoes.
C) Two phrases that do not go together: cheap shoes and lack of pain.
D) Don't use one of those callous razors on your feet while you're watching TV. (oops not that one; that one came later)
Answer: Any one of the genius maxims above would have been good for me to remember, but I didn't learn any lesson at all. (Evidence of lesson not learned: see cheap pink shoes above, with dog looking at me in disbelief.)
Baby Girl and I went to that shoe store called "Cheap Shoes, Come and Get 'Em," where they were in the middle of a BOGO sale (buy one, get one half off). We were drooling. And that was before we walked through the door.
So, since the deal works for shoes that are clearanced, we got several shoes for $2.50 and $3.50. What? YES! "Good Night, Nurse and Lawsy Day!" That is what my grandma would say if she were alive. It's what you say when your joy and astonishment are beyond words. Just typing the account of the cheap shoe plunder, I need some air.
So it's today morning. I am going to wear my new pink ones. I coordinate my outfit. I put on jeans. Too short. Other jeans. Too long. Other jeans. Too short. (This phenomenon is very real because height-wise, I'm on the cusp of tallness, 5'8", and I have whole a collection of both tall/short and fat/skinny clothes.)
I make the final choice, and walk out of my bedroom, only to notice in my periphery vision that every time I step, there is a left hot pink "flash" of color, then a right hot pink "flash," then a left, etc. Every time I take a step, I see these shoes, and it is very disconcerting.
I almost take them off, because I feel like I'm wearing neon signs on my feet, but then say to myself, "Linda--they were $2.50. TWO-FIFTY. Get out of the house and get to work."
Step, flash. Step, flash. Step, flash, all the way to the car.
As soon as I got into my office, I had to go back outside to the other building. All the way across, I'm staring at the clouds, the new building, the road ... anything to distract me from the flashes.
I get half-way there, and a lady I don't know calls out ACROSS THE LOT, "I like your shoes!" She cannot know my embarrassment, but I remain ever gracious.
By 2:00 pm, quittin' time, the tootsies have had it. They are wailing and gnashing their teeth, crying out, "What did we ever do to you that you would torture us like this? Didn't we drag your butt across the finish line at the Indy Mini one month ago?"
So I come home, stretch out and survey the damage. My dog is very concerned for my well-being. She is thinking, "Great. I know what this means. No walkies today. She probably won't even make it to the fridge for a snack. All for these ugly gray shoes." (She says that because, as we all know, dogs are color-blind.)
So between my razored soles and dashed top-sides, I am a mess. There is only one thing that cheers me up: I have several pairs to decide between tomorrow.