Wednesday, September 16, 2009

I'm Into Retail Therapy

My heart was absolutely broken into pieces last week. I went shoe shopping. Somebody should have shot me dead as a doornail right then and there before I had a chance to enter that first store. (Please hum "Taps" as you read on.)

What was the very first thing I saw as I walked inside? No, not those really creepy avant garde mannequins with totally blank faces whose images haunt meek and skittish housewives for nights on end. And no, not one of those women who aggressively attack shoppers with the latest in celebrity perfumes which, in reality reek to high heaven. Especially that Paris Hilton one. P. Ew. (And, I always feel so sorry for those little old guys who can't quite hobble away fast enough before they are drenched in something from the Les Fleurs Collection. Wife: "Bernard! Why do you smell like that?" Husband: "Don't ask me, Edith. I was just walking along minding my own . . . ." Wife: "I want a divorce!")

So, c'mon! Guess! Guess what I first saw when I walked into the store? I SAW BOOTS! Thousands and thousands (well, ten or so) pairs of boots. As in freezing, yucky, winter-weather footwear! Heaven help me. I just about called 911, or 411, or whatever, because I couldn't get my bearings straight. I thought I had just died and gone to "the land down under" because this certainly couldn't be my world. BOOTS??? Honestly. Can't we just skip over that whole messy business of snow, ice, freezing toes and fingers, and hideous holiday-themed sweaters? Just once? Just this once? Please, oh please, oh please with sugar on top?Just humor me on this, won't you? Seriously. Really. I mean it.

Well, I decided to console myself as best as I could. It did help . . . some.


Lisa said...

Sweet looking shoe, girl!

The Morris Family said...

YUM! I love me a good shoe!