Shoe Broke Her
I plopped down at the computer, and unzipped what I call my “black clunky boots” – my mystery pleather, Made in China “K-mart Specials”. I pulled off the clunkys and tossed them in the corner. A burst of cool air rushed between my toes through sweat-moistened socks. Wiggling my toes and noting a slight sweaty feet smell, I clicked into Ebay and logged in. Bids on another pair finally, thank goodness. I had just returned from the post office where I sent out the last small batch of auction sales. Shoes, I thought. I then clicked into my “Favorites” and opened up the link to the Kelly video.
These shoes ruuule. These shoes SUCK!
I hate shoes. Hate shoe shopping more. But I do like selling them – like the money anyways. Mom works at a shipping warehouse and brings me boxes and boxes of “throw aways” – samples and display models that apparently aren’t being used anymore so employees grab what they want and the rest go to the dumpster. I’m not really sure if she is supposed to take them or not. Regardless, she rescues the shoes from certain death-by-dumpster and brings them to me. For some reason samples are all size 6. My size 9 monsters can’t wear them, but I figure, for a price, somebody out there can.
My mom – Shoe Orphan Rescue Missionary.
Me – Shoe Adoption Broker.
I buy shoes for myself about once a year, usually at K-Mart, and only if I can find my size in the style that I like, which seems to be hit or miss. The shoes my mom packs at the warehouse sell on the company website for an arm and a leg – on Ebay maybe just a leg. Well, an arm. If they sold for a leg, the buyer would then only need one shoe, correct? Anyway, the shoes are expensive and even selling “rescued” shoes for half-price by auction, I make pretty darn good money but what I make helps pay for food and diapers, not fancy shoes.
The first and only “fancy” shoes I remember owning were a pair of blue Maryjane-style Buster Browns. My aunt bought them for me when I was four. She lived downtown and sometimes I stayed with her and we would go for walks all over the city. One time, she decided to take me to Standard Shoe before walking me back home just because she loved buying me stuff, whether I needed it or not.
I picked out the shoes all by myself. They were cute shoes, and I remember thinking mom would like them because they looked like Elvis’s Blue Suede Shoes. Mom loved Elvis. I skipped right out of the store wearing them proudly. I hopped over cracks in the sidewalk (so I wouldn’t break my mother’s back) and veered around puddles all the way home.
I raced up the steps and banged on the screen door, but before I could tell her about my new shoes, she looked down and saw them. She shook her head and scowled.
See? Blue Suede Shoes. Just like Elvis!
Despite my efforts to be careful (as careful as a 4-year-old can be), my new shoes were scuffed at the toes and my mother scolded me. I stood at the door staring at my shoes, bawling, while my aunt made the very good point that my mother didn’t buy them, she bought them and she didn’t care that they didn’t look perfect anymore. Well, my mom cared. Probably because she loved shoes so much. At that point, I hated the scuffmarks, hated those shoes, and didn’t even want them anymore. And I hated Elvis.
It was the start of a long love/hate relationship between me and my mother, and me and damn shoes. Over the years, before my feet grew bigger than my mother’s, I would sneak into my mom’s closet and try on every pair of sandals, shoes, and boots that she owned, many that I never saw her wear. I wondered if I would grow up and have my own piles of expensive shoes just taking up space in my closet.
Time to quit messing around online – videos can wait.
More auctions ending soon – more shoes to put on Ebay.
I clicked “Sell” and pushed away from the desk and stood up. Realizing my right leg was asleep and the toes of both feet were icicles, I sat back down and threw on my clunkys which, for the price (cheap), made my feet feel quite warm and secure. I shook the pins and needles out of my leg, clunked down the hall, and swung open the double doors of my big walk-in closet.
Well, let’s see what we’ve got.