One of the reasons I love shoes is because no matter how much weight you gain or lose, your shoe size typically stays the same.
One of the reasons I love shoes is because no matter how much weight you gain or lose, your shoe size typically stays the same. In theory, this should make shoe shopping easy. However, I am a size 9, and for some reason, this shoe size can be hard to come by. Apparently, a 9 is considered a large shoe size and is not stocked as well as more lady-like sizes. This means that often times when 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 smaller. This makes no sense to me. As far as I'm concerned, shoe size is not negotiable. 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 or give me horrible blisters from the second I put them on because they are too tight. 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."
To which I would respond with a smile, and then take the shoe she is offering me ... and hit her with it.
I had all this foot history in mind when I spotted a pair of towering heels in a store window and instantly fell in love. They were the perfect partner for a new dress I had just gotten and I 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. 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 my feet would shrivel up and fall off from walking in them.
Of course shoe salesgirl tried to convince me that the shoes ran big and the smaller size would definitely fit. Having been a victim of this bait and switch scheme with jean salesgirls before only to discover that butts are not one size fits all, I had my doubts. But since the shoes were so gorgeous, I decided to give it a go.
"They're too small," I declared to the salesgirl after I tried them on.
She peered down at my feet where chunks of foot fat bulged over the side of the shoe. If there were such a thing as a muffin top for feet, I had discovered it.
"Your feet are probably swollen from walking and they will fit when they go down," she said.
"True," I replied. "But they will swell again when I walk in these and then you will need the Jaws of Life to get me out of them."
"Well that's the last size we have, so if you love them, I suggest you get them before they are completely sold out," she warned.
I considered this for a moment.
Mustering all the inner strength I had, I turned to the salesgirl and said,
"I think I'll pass."
She looked at me in utter disbelief. "I think you're making a mistake."
I smiled. "So shoe me."
Tracy's new book, "Lost in Suburbia: A Momoir. How I Got Pregnant, Lost Myself, and Got My Cool Back in the New Jersey Suburbs," is now available. Get it on Amazon and everywhere books are sold!