Walking Away
This morning I ran to the bank to deposit some mola, and I remembered the Nine West Outlet store that is across the street. I walk past it on my way to the grocery store every week, but I've never gone in; so today I did. And the most amazing thing happened.
I should have prefaced this post with a short explanation of my anti-Cinderella, no-glass-slipper-for-me curse.. the curse of huge feet. I'm not going to say what size of shoe I wear because I am that self-conscious about it. But whatever size you are thinking about in your head, add three. That's my shoe size. Not only does it stop all the princes that are constantly stopping at my door asking me to squeeze into a 'regular-sized' glass slipper, but it's damn hard to find shoes to wear.. anywhere (not just to the ball). Renting bowling shoes and ice skates are both pretty humiliating experiences as well. It's my burden to bare in life, and I have sadly accepted it.
Cut back to when I'm opening the double doors of the Nine West Outlet, and my fairy Godmother (in the form of a 30-year-old Spanish shoe saleswoman), asks me if she can help me. I raise my eyebrows in anticipated disappointment and ask, "Do you carry size [again, take your number and add three]?" AND SHE SAYS YES! In almost every single kind of shoe that they carry, they have at least one pair for me. I throw off my tennis shoes and man-socks and immediately began trying on every single pair of shoes I can get my hands on: heels, pumps, flats, boots, you name it. At one point, I think I began to levitate in the store. I scoop what I can carry in my arms, charge them all to my credit card, and promise my fairy sales lady to be back again very soon. I run out before the clock strikes 12:00 (pm).
Now I'm home with my three new prides and joy, and if a prince comes knocking on my door, I'm going to tell him to 'suck it' because he's too late. I'm taking my heels, flats, and boots, and I'm going dancing.
I should have prefaced this post with a short explanation of my anti-Cinderella, no-glass-slipper-for-me curse.. the curse of huge feet. I'm not going to say what size of shoe I wear because I am that self-conscious about it. But whatever size you are thinking about in your head, add three. That's my shoe size. Not only does it stop all the princes that are constantly stopping at my door asking me to squeeze into a 'regular-sized' glass slipper, but it's damn hard to find shoes to wear.. anywhere (not just to the ball). Renting bowling shoes and ice skates are both pretty humiliating experiences as well. It's my burden to bare in life, and I have sadly accepted it.
Cut back to when I'm opening the double doors of the Nine West Outlet, and my fairy Godmother (in the form of a 30-year-old Spanish shoe saleswoman), asks me if she can help me. I raise my eyebrows in anticipated disappointment and ask, "Do you carry size [again, take your number and add three]?" AND SHE SAYS YES! In almost every single kind of shoe that they carry, they have at least one pair for me. I throw off my tennis shoes and man-socks and immediately began trying on every single pair of shoes I can get my hands on: heels, pumps, flats, boots, you name it. At one point, I think I began to levitate in the store. I scoop what I can carry in my arms, charge them all to my credit card, and promise my fairy sales lady to be back again very soon. I run out before the clock strikes 12:00 (pm).
Now I'm home with my three new prides and joy, and if a prince comes knocking on my door, I'm going to tell him to 'suck it' because he's too late. I'm taking my heels, flats, and boots, and I'm going dancing.
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