Saturday, February 19, 2005

Bamber needs a new pair of shoes!

Thanks to Miss Doxie, I have become aware of the lovely time- and money-suck that is I have a tendency to find a few types of shoes that fit my style (such as it is) and buy different incarnations of them for years and years. I am not quite as bad about this as I used to be; at one point in junior high I believe I had five pairs of low-top Keds in black or white. And I am not as bad as my housemate, who has had two pairs of daily-wear shoes for as long as I've known him: the black leather sneakers and the black leather casual lace-ups. But I am not adventurous. Those gypsy slippers with sequins at Jasmine Sola? So not coming home with me.

Part of this is based on my adversarial relationship with footwear. No matter what, I am constantly under attack from below. It makes me risk averse generally with respect to shoes. My shoes, new and old, dressy and casual, can never be trusted; they may decide at any time to begin chewing on my soft toes and ankles. I had blisters for three weeks after buying these sneakers. This was especially annoying because I bought them after limping into a store wearing a pair of adorable black Mary Jane flats that I had unsuccessfully tried to break in for three years and throwing them in the garbage.

I have a special hatred for shoes that look like they should be comfortable but are not. Cute little slip-ons with ruched edges, I am looking at you. You try to look soft, but it's all an act so I will buy you and allow you to sink your serrated maw around my tender little foot. Aerosoles sandals with cushioned soles and dangerously thin straps that saw into an ankle in less than one block's walk? Die. Dress loafers that taper to a narrow wedge at the back and chomp into me, forcing me to bleed through panty hose at work? Die, die, die.

Even old friends betray me. Last week, my two year old boots decided to start slicing through my leg with the cloth tag inside the shaft of the boot. A cloth tag. And I was bleeding! When I foiled their rebellion with a judiciously placed bandage, they snapped one heel off in a huff.

If I end up ordering a bunch of stuff from Zappos and it destroys my feet, I think I may just give up and become a barefoot hippie.
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