shoes

On the last day of Kindergarten I took Donovan with me to run a few errands. We went to Gander Mountain to get a fishing license in preparation of our upcoming trip to the lake. Always a sucker for a good deal, I was drawn to the shoe rack marked "clearance". I found a pair that I liked in my size and decided to grab them. I knew I was pressing my luck with Donovan. Toting a 4 year old boy around on boring errands is a fast way to use up his reserve of good behavior. So I bought them without trying them on.

Even on clearance, $60 is a lot of money for me to spend on a pair of shoes. I have to really like them, they have to fill a purpose that my other shoes do not, and they have to feel good when I wear them. For a week the shoes sat on my counter. I really liked them. I mean I really, really liked them. I knew they would be durable and great in all kinds of weather. They were attractive in a funky sort of way. I liked what shoes like that would say about me.

But here's the kicker, they didn't feel good. Yes, they were the right size, but the right one felt too narrow and the left one rubbed painfully on my ankle bone. Plus they seemed to look more dorky than funky on me. I wore them around the house for an hour, hoping they would get better with time. I told myself, "maybe they just need to break in a little". I wanted them to feel good.  I wanted them to be a perfect fit.  I wanted them say to the world, "here's an out-doorsy, hip, yet sensible girl." But no amount of time would make them feel better. I finally admitted defeat. I knew they would just end up stuck in my closet never seeing the light of day. They went back to Gander Mountain the next day.

Sometimes, no matter how much you want it, the shoe just doesn't fit.