The need for new shoes becomes apparent when your shoes become just a tad too comfortable. Yes, there’s a built-in design in shoes, that when you start to wear them as not only your work shoes but your go-out-to-dinner shoes, go-to-church shoes or go-over-to-visit-dear-ole-Aunt-Martha shoes, your shoes will suddenly give you a nudge to take a good long look at them and you discover yes, yes, you do, indeed, need to get new shoes.
You will know it when all of a sudden you go to put your shoes on and you can’t remember the last time you untied and tied them when taking them off and putting them back on. Maybe you realize you don’t keep them under your bed any longer, like you did when they were new. Now you take them off by the back door because of the effervescence they emit. Kind of like three-day-old hamburger that has accidently been left out on top of the freezer in the garage because your hands were full of other goodies that you were escorting into the house for the next five nights’ dinners. Yes, I have done that, and it’s not a pretty sight or smell. The cats, however, had a grand feast!
Anyway, those needed new shoes. I’m not much of a shopper. Not that I have anything against shopping. It’s the best way to buy things! Well, the only way to buy things, actually. That’s neither here nor there, just a silly fact. So buying new shoes to me equates to a baby needing a new pacifier. There’s squirming, head shaking, burbling, and out and out sputtering added to the fact that it just doesn’t happen automatically and at the speed, to which I and the baby would concur, the event should happen. I’m a grown up; I should revel in the fact I can buy new shoes. I should thank my lucky stars I no longer have to cut cardboard to put inside my shoes like I did when I was young to make my shoes last longer. I should count my blessings there are sales that seem to know when I need new shoes and stores that put the cutest and coolest shoes out in front and the ones on sale on the back rack, under the dimmest lights, among the spider webs and trolls, where you are going to always find me shopping!
But shoes. Some ladies love to shoe shop. Trying on this one and that one and wearing those oh so lovely peds, (the little foot sock to protect the shoe from any wayward thing on the ladies foot, or is it to protect the ladies delicate footie?) The salesmen carry these little socks in their pocket just to add to the experience of shoe shopping. Do men get that ped experience? No. I have to laugh at the thought of just seeing a big burly man, named Hank, sitting down to buy steel toed work boots and a man in a suit is seated in front of him, on one of those triangle shaped little stools you can put your foot on, and the salesman pulls out one of those ped socks and goes to put it on Hank’s foot. I’d pay to see that!
So I have come accustomed to going in picking out the shoe, from that aforementioned sale rack, sitting on the closest chair, stool or box, quickly trying on the shoe, just in case for some reason my foot has grown or shrunk since the last time I bought the same style, color and size of shoe. Re-boxing my choice and then heading for the checkout counter to get that look of disdain from the clerk for not even stopping at the lovely display of $100 to $200 shoes. There I pay for my work, out-to-dinner, church, all-in-one shoes. I do the shoe buying this way so I don’t get that question from a salesperson. You know. As they are taking off your new shoe to put it in the box, they look down to pick up and help you on with your current shoes, the shoes you wore into the store. They kind of suck in a quick breath of air, pull back their hand and look up at you and say, “Wouldn’t you like to wear your new shoes out of the store today?” Now that line tells me I’ve made the right decision, it was definitely time for new shoes.
Trina Machacek lives in Eureka, Nevada. Share your opinions with her at email@example.com.