Although New Shoe Tuesday is a relatively new concept, for those of us who are mildly shoe obsessed, New Shoe Tuesday is like X-mas for our feet. So while I may not always be in the market for a new waffle maker or an X-box on Friday or Monday, I’m always game for a new pair of shoes on Tuesday.
One of the reasons I love shoes is because no matter how much weight I gain or lose, my shoe size typically stays the same. It’s always comforting to know that a Halloween candy binge or a Thanksgiving pie bender will not make a bit of difference in how my shoes fit. Pregnancy? Yes. Too much pecan pie? Not so much.
Although my shoe size does not fluctuate, it has still sometimes been an issue in my pursuit of the perfect shoe. I do not have gargantuan feet, but they are on the big side. I am a size 9, which does not qualify me for Sasquatch status, but for some reason, seems to be a black hole in shoe sizes. Often times when I will I ask to see a pair of shoes I want, the sales associate will tell me they do not have them in my size, but they can give me a pair that is one size bigger or one size smaller. This makes no sense to me. As far as I’m concerned, shoe size is not negotiable. You are what you are. I am not one of those women who will suffer excessively for fashion and see no point in buying shoes that I know will cause me pain from the second I put them on because they are too tight, or will give me horrible blisters from rubbing against my feet because they are too big. When I mention this to the sales associate, I am often met with a disdainful stare and a shrug that says “If you really loved them, you would get them in ANY size you can squeeze your grotesquely large feet into,” and then I would smile, take the larger of the two pair of shoes she is offering me, and hit her with it.
I had all this foot history in mind when I spotted a pair of discounted designer heels in a store window on New Shoe Tuesday and instantly fell in love. They were the perfect partner for a new outfit I had just gotten and knew, despite the obscene height of the heel which would wreak havoc with my flat feet, that I had to have them. Naturally, when I asked for my size I was told they only had them one size smaller and one size larger. This, combined with the height of the shoe, should have set off alarm bells and a warning message that told me to just walk away from the shoe. But I couldn’t. They were so pretty, and funky and unique and I knew that wearing them would instantly make my life better in every way. You know, except for the fact that I would be in horrible pain with every step.
“Let me call another store and see if they have them in your size,” said the salesgirl, casting a doubtful eye on my Sasquatch feet.
“That would be great,” I exclaimed.
I waited patiently in my stockinged feet and watched with fascination as throngs of shoe shoppers grabbed at “50% off” boots and “Buy One Get One Free” flats.
“No luck,” said the salesgirl when she returned. As she started to collect my reject shoeboxes, another shopper approached.
“Hey are those the Pliners in an eight and a half,” asked the woman, spotting the shoe in question in the stack of shoeboxes. “Can I see those?”
I suddenly panicked and realized that the shoes I loved, the shoes I had to have, the shoes that were a size too small for me, were about to leave on someone else’s feet.
“No!! I’m taking them!!” I yelled, grabbing the box out of the salesgirl’s arms.
The other shopper pouted and walked away. I cradled my prize and followed the salesgirl to the cash register. She smiled victoriously. I shook my head. I knew I would probably only wear the shoes once, suffer in pain, and then ban them to the back of my closet, but at the price they were marked down to on New Shoe Tuesday, it seemed like a good enough deal.
“So, do you need anything else today?” asked the salesgirl as she prepared to ring me up.
“Yes.” I said. “Smaller feet.”