I bought new shoes today.
They're nice shoes. Light blue leather pumps. Pointy toes. Interesting detail-work. I really like them. They're very "I am an adult with very high heels and why yes, I DO happen to have a tube of lipstick in my purse" shoes. I don't normally tend to buy shoes like this.
Mostly, I buy shoes that have a tongue and laces and canvas. See, I have four or five pairs of chuck taylor sneakers I wear on a revolving basis. I have one pair of serviceable black pumps, one pair of pale pink, round-toed kitten heels, one pair of well-worn Doc Martens, several pairs of thongs and sport sandals and actual running shoes. This, to me, was well-rounded, in the zapato department.
So I don't know what came over me, Re: Shoes. But I was downtown thinking "I should celebrate my newfound credit increase by purchasing something ridiculous." So instead of doing something cool, like buying a Wii or a couch (which I actually need) or, I don't know, getting my hair cut, I bought a pair of shoes. It's not like they were expensive. On clearance, in fact. No, the price isn't what's throwing me, it's how easily I was conned into buying them.
I just went in the store to look. Next thing I knew, I was sitting, trying on. Shoe boxes were everywhere. The sales girl was half-heartedly telling me how hott my legs looked in these shoes. Truth? I had my jeans rucked up to my knees, hadn't shaved my legs in I don't know how long and was trying to inconspicuously pick black sock fuzz from between my (hairy) toes. Sure. Hott.
It was between the blue pumps and a cute pair of Guess sandals. I had been clomping around in the sandals when the salesgirl brought out the pumps. I stepped into them and she said: "You like those." It was a statement. Like she was hypnotizing me. "I like these," I said. Like a hypnotized, shoe-buying idiot. Nice. Imagine, I thought, if I made an effort and shaved my legs and wore a skirt! I'd be practically presentable!
"I could tell as soon as you put them on," she said. I clomped up to a mirror. These are nice shoes, I thought. I have a number of skirts I never wear that would look really cute with these shoes. As I mentally went through my wardrobe, the salesgirl seemed to think she was losing me. Or, at the very least, this sale. "You know," she said conversationally, "you have the perfect skin tone to wear that colour."
"Really? I never really... thought about it that way."
"Oh, totally. I couldn't wear shoes like that."
"Well, I guess I DO have a pretty awesome skin tone..."
I swear, I saw little dollar signs roll around her eyeballs like when cartoon characters think about money and somewhere, the "ka-ching!" of a cash register sounded over the Kanye West song playing on the PA system.
I bought the shoes. I wore them to work. Somehow, my perfectly toned skin is wrapped around two feet, one of which is slightly, but noticeably smaller than the other. Which means every time I lift my left foot - which I like to do occasionally, you know, while WALKING - the shoe slips off my heel and I have to adjust my foot. This becane annoying very quickly, as you might imagine. But I can't give up. If I go back to the store, the salesgirl (a mere high school student, I was later to learn) would win. Oh, I'll wear these shoes. And I'll hate them every second they're on my feet, but by God, I'll wear them!
Jesus. I know. It's like my brain is on vacation.
Perfect skin tone. God.
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