Wednesday, April 12, 2006

Glad I'm Not in Her Shoes

You have to be kidding. You place Starbuck’s coffee shops in grocery stores and huge department stores near the entrance, and you expect people not to grab a coffee as they shop?

“No food or beverage allowed in store.” Says your sign.

What the? I mean, come on. How are these people supposed to make money? It’s like a tease---all these delicious coffees and other little treats available for the taking, without the permission to take it. It seems like a total oxymoron to me.

Yesterday was a fun-filled day of shopping. Who am I kidding? It was completely exhausting. The mall was packed with angry shoppers and whiney little kids screaming, “Mommy mommy, I want this! Mommy mommy buy this for me!” Wait…I think that was me. Yes, I brought mom with us. She had to return the toaster that I bought her for Christmas. She’s been wanting to do this since Christmas day.

My girlfriend and I make a pit stop at Target to return the toaster. They exchange it with no problem—and no receipt. I thought, “Wow, that was painless.” Until my girlfriend wanted to go shoe shopping.

Now, I’m not your typical girl where all I wanna do is shop till I drop. No—I’m like the guy waiting for his girlfriend to come out of the dressing room trying something way too small on asking me, “Honey, does this make my ass look fat?” And then of course, I shove a Twix candy bar in my mouth so I can’t talk.

Shoe shopping is easy, right? It should be. I went and picked out beautiful three inch wedged sandals with a bunch of sexy little straps on them. I tried them on…I liked them…and that was that.

My girlfriend? She basically stared at the same two pairs of shoes. First of all, these shoes look like ‘Buster Brown I work on my feet all day and sometimes have the occasional anvil dropped on my toes’ kind of shoes. Now, she’s feminine—don’t get me wrong, but just by judging her by the shoes she wears, you’d think she was a man.

I always used to say, “You can always judge someone by the shoes they wear.” Or can you? Now I’m not so sure that theory applies here.

So mom’s with us. Madelene and I are trying on shoes together—sitting on the same bench. I was wearing my three inch high heel boots, and she was wearing the old Buster Brown looking shoes. I had to take my socks off and replace them with those sheer stockings they have available to try on sandals. I went to change back into my boots, and realized that my sock was missing.

“What the hell? Where’d my sock go?”
“Oh, I had to use your sock, because the ones I was wearing were too bulky.”
Madelene explains.
“Madelene! We’ve been walking all day in this mall for hours—my feet are all pruned up and sweaty—and you take my socks? Your feet have to be in the same state as mine!” I say, in horror.

She hands me back my sock and I put it back on my foot as I cringed in disbelief. I think I even walked with a limp I was so mortified. She starts laughing at my OCD that has just kicked in. This wasn’t good. I was really pissed off. Don’t take my socks. Don’t wear my underwear, and don’t ever…ever…sip from my drink.

We cool?

A little later, we see another shoe store. We walk in, and we decided that we needed new sneakers. Fine. Vacation is coming up, and we need some ‘comfy’ footwear. Madelene’s lost in God knows what section, as I’m standing in the ‘ladies footwear’ as I’m supposed to be… Mom was sitting at the end waiting for us. She was a bit tired.

I come out almost instantly, picking out my sneakers almost right away. I made a great choice—no problem---we outa’ there!... No. Madelene’s with us. Great. She walks out of an aisle (I believe the little boys' section) and comes out wearing these ‘I wanna be on a bowling league so bad’ kind of shoes. No lie—these shoes had stripes on them going in every which direction. Red, white, black purple—you name it---every color was on there. My mother starts rolling. She starts laughing so uncontrollably that her laugh made me laugh. Her contagious laugh had other people chuckling as they walked by.

“Ma-Ma-Ma-Madelene! HA HA HA HA HA!!! Y-y-y-you look like a clown in those! HA HA HA HA HA!!!” My mother says, as she laughs even harder.

Madelene quickly shuffles back into the little boys’ aisle and changes out of her bowling shoes into her Buster Brown look-alikes.

Where did my little feminine princess that wore dainty shoes go? The one who used to wear sexy high heels and beautiful chic sandals?

I guess I have to walk a mile in her shoes to find out…but my OCD won’t let me.