I Hate Shopping

Last week two of my essential pairs of shoes broke. Since I'm not the Imelda Marcos type, I don't have backups, and that meant I had to go shoe-shopping.

The thing I've noticed about shopping (shoe and clothing), which is why I hate it, is that when you're looking for a specific thing, it can't be found. Or it can be found but not in your size or in the right color.

If you have lots of money for shopping, you can't find anything you like. And if you only have a little money to get something unspecific, you see a million things you like that look wonderful on you, but you can't afford to buy them. So I just don't do it until I must.

Last week at work on a Jeans Day, I noticed that the side of my right sneaker had blown out, and the upper was separated from the sole, leaving an inch-and-half-long hole. That relegated those shoes to being the ones I wear when I have to do icky things like weed-eatering in the yard. But sneakers are fairly easy to replace.

The next day, my trusty old white sandals that I can wear with pantyhose (gotta hide that pasty-white skin) broke right down the middle of the soles (there's a little bit of a platform/wedge/whatever they call it these days), so they're in the trash now.

Yesterday I left work after eight workhours (!) and went to the mall to replace my white shoes. I wanted something similar to the old ones: semi-casual, white straps, no strap between the toes, comfortable, not ugly. This shouldn't be difficult. It's July.

I went to all the shoe stores on the upper level of the mall where they don't specialize in workboots, stilettos, or teenager fashions. Then I went to three of the department stores. I found lots of ugly shoes that looked like they were made to be worn with polyester pantsuits by eighty-year-old women. I found lots of cute shoes that had the big-toe strap that made pantyhose impossible. And I found too many styles that had wood soles with no padding, and all I could imagine when I looked at them was the stories I'd heard as a kid about Chinese torture where they hit you over and over on the bottom of your heels with a piece of wood until you go insane. No, wood soles would not work.

With closing time approaching, I had to settle for comfortable-enough, cute-enough sandals that don't have any ankle straps (which means I could fall out and kill myself at any time). I'll wear them to work tomorrow (today is a special Jeans Day), and if I stop blogging all of a sudden, you'll know what happened.

Update:

I'm wearing my new shoes at work. I chickened out and wore my frumpy clogs from my car to my desk, because I was afraid of blisters from un-broken-in new shoes.

No blisters so far. My coworkers think my shoes are cute. And I haven't fallen off yet, though I've noticed I'm walking more like someone from Charm School trying to balance a book on her head. If I can keep my balance, I think these shoes will work out OK.