I have a pair of swanky black leather shoes that have been sitting disused in my closet. It’s been two years since I last wore them, which is a shame because, as shoes go, these are some bitchin’ kicks.
I picked them up from a trendy shoe boutique downtown many years ago. Rare are the Euro shoes that fit my wide feet, so you can imagine how happy I was to not only find a cool pair of shoes, but to discover that this store actually had them in my size. I had to contain my excitement when the salesperson brought them out front for me to try on. Normally I hate clothes shopping. I think it’s a genetic “guy” thing for us to loath dwelling amongst mannequins and shoe trees, but when I saw these particular shoes I felt an immediate kinship to them, like we were long lost brothers, or had gone to war together, or fought over the same girl.
“No one muct own these shoes but me,” I told myself using my best Clint Eastwood grimace.
Trying them on they seemed a good fit, and a quick walk up and down the store solidified the fact that I would, indeed, be bring these bad boys home with me.
Fast forward to the next day and my first outing with my
precious new shoes. I hadn’t gotten more than two blocks from my home when the heels started digging something fierce into my feet. After two more blocks it quickly became apparent that not only had these shoes given me blisters, but that the blisters had popped. Pausing for a quick inspection, I noticed blood seeping through the heels of my socks.
And I was in pain…lots of pain.
Damn it. Time to head home.
And so I drunkenly limped back home, trying my best to walk on the balls of my feet lest these shoes dig ever deeper into my flesh. Let me tell ya, those were probably the most painful four blocks that I’ve ever walked.
Arriving home I peeled off my shoes, inspected the damage, patched myself up, and placed my newly-acquired shoes in the closet. And there they’ve lurked ever since, untouched save for a quick recent dusting off.
For the life of me, I can’t bring myself to throw them away. What the hell is wrong with me? Perhaps I’m hopeful that someday I’ll be able to fix these shoes. Perhaps stretch them out a bit or have a cobbler (are there still cobblers out there?) install some sort of cushioning in the heels. I don’t know. All I know is that I’ve held on to these shoes as a reminder not to be so quick to give my heart away to any product, no matter how cool it looks in the store window…