So the other shoe dropped recently, or—more precisely—the other heel dropped off my dress boots. You just can’t keep me in fancy footwear: my size 10W peasant feet put even the finest craftsmanship through their paces. And pacing is part of the problem, I know. Women’s footwear is designed for the rare breed who taxies to her destination and takes the elevator to the nearest chair … and stays there. I am not such a woman. So this winter I’ve crossed a line. I bought sensible boots. At Zellers. Yup. Waterproof, rugged heeled, thinsulate padded, honking huge Sportek hikers. They’re a perfect match, actually, to the North Face parka I stole from Jeremy a few winters back. Looking in the mirror, however, I can’t help thinking that I’m just a Russian muskrat hat (with optional ear flaps) away from being the mom whose son wants to be dropped off a few blocks from the cinema, cuz, ya know: people will see me. How uncool am I?
But Mom mortification is years away. On shopping day itself, Sam was on board with the purchase. Of course, I could have stuck my feet in Tupperware containers and he’d have declared the choice perfect and strode towards the check out. Sam shops like Grandpa Arnold, whose exhortations to be "Quick like a bunny!" began in the parking lot of every brief girlie shopping trip he ever had to endure. The four of us still say it when we’re together, chuckling. "Let’s go, girls: quick like a bunny!"
Well, my bunny and I were whiling away a little time between a Sunday lunch and a matinee, so we popped into Zellers to pick up some model glue (do the lego pirate ships really need to come [fall] apart? We think not). Crossing the store to the craft section, I spotted some boot displays and figured it was worth a look, if only to rule out the budget purchase. Sam patiently walked up and down the aisles listening to me rhyme off the reasons for rejection. Size 7, size 7, spiky heels, size 7, ugly, too long a cheap zipper, size 7, too furry, and so on.
As we’re rounding the last corner (who knew there was a full-blown section?), Sam spotted the half-price Sportek hikers and suggested I try them on. I was sceptical but-man-oh-man-my face must have made that awakening expression that screams "walkin’ on sunshine," cuz Sam sealed the deal right there. "Good! Right size, no heel, right price, not furry, now all we need is the glue." Next! What the heck: they were twenty-five dollars…The matinee and popcorn cost more!
Since then, I have trudged through shin-deep packing snow on our unplowed street, have sloshed through sloppy puddles built up around blocked drains, have strode along sidewalks slick with black ice - all heedless of the elements. This is a big improvement from the constant fear of stepping off the morning bus and falling flat on my face in front of Timothy's. These are the boots of a 40-year-old woman who has seen the light: these boots are made for walkin' (albeit without the Sinatraesque sexy cool).
Years from now, when Sam rolls his eyes at the choices I make in the name of comfort—the high-waisted stretchy pants, the knit pullover with little birds embroidered on it, the Russian muskrat hat with ear flaps—I'll pull up this post to remind him that he himself started it all, lo those many years ago in the Women’s Wear aisles of Zellers.
But Mom mortification is years away. On shopping day itself, Sam was on board with the purchase. Of course, I could have stuck my feet in Tupperware containers and he’d have declared the choice perfect and strode towards the check out. Sam shops like Grandpa Arnold, whose exhortations to be "Quick like a bunny!" began in the parking lot of every brief girlie shopping trip he ever had to endure. The four of us still say it when we’re together, chuckling. "Let’s go, girls: quick like a bunny!"
Well, my bunny and I were whiling away a little time between a Sunday lunch and a matinee, so we popped into Zellers to pick up some model glue (do the lego pirate ships really need to come [fall] apart? We think not). Crossing the store to the craft section, I spotted some boot displays and figured it was worth a look, if only to rule out the budget purchase. Sam patiently walked up and down the aisles listening to me rhyme off the reasons for rejection. Size 7, size 7, spiky heels, size 7, ugly, too long a cheap zipper, size 7, too furry, and so on.
As we’re rounding the last corner (who knew there was a full-blown section?), Sam spotted the half-price Sportek hikers and suggested I try them on. I was sceptical but-man-oh-man-my face must have made that awakening expression that screams "walkin’ on sunshine," cuz Sam sealed the deal right there. "Good! Right size, no heel, right price, not furry, now all we need is the glue." Next! What the heck: they were twenty-five dollars…The matinee and popcorn cost more!
Since then, I have trudged through shin-deep packing snow on our unplowed street, have sloshed through sloppy puddles built up around blocked drains, have strode along sidewalks slick with black ice - all heedless of the elements. This is a big improvement from the constant fear of stepping off the morning bus and falling flat on my face in front of Timothy's. These are the boots of a 40-year-old woman who has seen the light: these boots are made for walkin' (albeit without the Sinatraesque sexy cool).
Years from now, when Sam rolls his eyes at the choices I make in the name of comfort—the high-waisted stretchy pants, the knit pullover with little birds embroidered on it, the Russian muskrat hat with ear flaps—I'll pull up this post to remind him that he himself started it all, lo those many years ago in the Women’s Wear aisles of Zellers.
2 comments:
When you start wearing high-waisted stretch pants and knit jumpers with embroidery, *I* am going to start making me people drop me off a block from your house. Pinky swear that next time you visit me (a-HEM!) we go shoe shopping for you. Paris Hilton has size 10s and I've never seen her in mom boots! ;)
Um, Paris Hilton qualifies (*epitomizes*) the "rare breed" mentioned above! And she's never been to Ottawa :)
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