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Monday, July 8, 2013

Shoe shopping, and other war stories.

Over the weekend my wife and I went to the mall to pick up her sunglasses.  She is very practical, and frugal, so getting her to buy prescription sunglasses took considerable salesmanship, endless arm twisting, and the right sale, or at least the right sale.  She said they were very comfortable, she looked charming and pretty in them, and she could see, even in daylight.  She was flush with achievement, and ready for a new challenge.  "Hey, let's go over to Von Maur and look for some shoes," she said.

"Sure, that sounds easy, why not?"  I knew there were a lot of good reasons, but, she is my wife, and sometimes you need to sacrifice.  So, we went.

It started pretty innocently, there were not many people (it was early) so I braved the inner area, feeling brave, invincible, immortal.  Things were smooth, and I was flying high.  "Let's go look in the "bargain room," she said, an evil twinkle in her eye.

"Sure."  But, as I got closer, I smelled the carnage, decay, death coming from inside, and said, "I'll just wait out here."  Quickly finding a chair towards the edge of the department, with my back to the wall, and good lines of vision, I sat down.  It was ideal, nobody could sneak up behind me, and I could keep all of the shoe shoppers in sight.

Off to one side was a group, maybe 4 or 5, shopping together, for safety probably.  One of the women was wearing a dress (a flowery mid length number with a flutter hem) and decided a pair of cowboy (cowgirl?) boots would compliment it nicely.  Standing in front of the mirror and admiring the boots and dress together, she asked, "What do you think of this look?"

Most of her friends were pretty supportive, but one, an older, angry looking woman (who had been slamming down the complimentary coffee, right out of the carafe) in a pink jump suit with a flowered belt, and matching purse said, "those boots, that dress, and makeup, you look like you should work the evening shift at the I-74 Holy Diesel Truck-o-Rama. (where your 5th truck wash is always free)."

That is the wrong thing to say to a woman with such easy access to pointy healed shoes.  The woman
in the dress grabbed a Charles David Sway Pump, (only $129.95, compare to $195.00) shrieked at a pitch that would have disrupted the sonar echo location of bats, leaped into the air and landed a glancing blow to the temple of the caustic woman in the pink jump suit.  She saw what was coming and grabbed some Jessica Simpson Roxee Platform Sandal (on sale for $59.95, down from $70.00), and while wiping a small trickle of blood from her cheek started circling the woman in the dress.

By now, other shoppers had started to form a circle around the combatants, and a low, guttural chant was starting to pulse, like a wave, from the crowd, "shoes, shoes, shoes, winner gets the shoes."  Some of them were holding lit torches, (where did they get those?) and there was a vendor selling shots of cranberry vodka, and brie, with water crackers.

Soon, all of the women were wrestling for shoes, and the floor was littered with little nylon socks, and flip flops.  It was a dystopian view, filled with anger, and hate, and then one woman, stopped pounding another woman's head on the floor and said, "your dress would look so cute with those Steve Madden Palet Gladiator Sandals, (only $49.95, noramllyShoe $89.00).

All of the women turned toward each other and started helping pick out shoes, and purses, soon they were headed to casual wear, and beach attire.  Followed by the sounds of distant, disturbing drumming.

My wife found some shoes she liked, but missed the show.  Poor girl.