Foot Where?

Though I am in danger of folks thinking I have some sort of foot fetish thing going on here, I can’t help what happens around here to write about so here’s another blog about things foot related. Sister who abhors feet be forewarned: this may contain objectionable material.

On Saturday I found myself taking the kids shopping for new Sunday shoes. Somehow the tongue of Trent’s black shoe was amputated last Sunday at church. Nobody seems to be able to identify the circumstances around which this occurred, nevertheless, it did necessitate looking for new boy’s church shoes. Trevor’s pair were on their last legs as well, so off to the mall we went.

For some reason, boys’ sneakers can be found in any store, at any time, ad infinitum. Boys’ dress shoes, however, are only available in limited locations, in limited quantities, as long as supplies last. This usually means a pair or two may be found around Christmas or Easter time. (Oddly enough, the same thing was true of rocking chair cushions when I was shopping for them some years ago…according to the Walmart sales associate… Where was I? Oh, yeah…)

Naturally, we first checked the shoe store where we were overwhelmed with two selections in a limited number of sizes…not the ones we needed. The styles were undesirable to both boys and the prices were undesirable to me. Next we went to the department store, where they had no children’s shoes whatsoever, unless you consider Crocs to be shoes. That was the extent of shoe selection in the whole mall. We would be forced to search at one of the two other stores in town that might carry shoes.

Before we left the department store I remembered that I was in need of some tights, as the fashion police have declared war on pantyhose. They expect everyone to run around bare-legged, but have given permission for tights to be worn by those people unfortunate enough to reside in colder climates. I like tights but they also can be tricky to find. I dragged the kids to the hosiery department to check out the selection. There were several color options, only a few of which were acceptable to my wardrobe, and several textures and patterns. If I were younger (or Katy) I might invest in some of those others, but I’m not. I chose two fairly conservative pairs and headed off to the counter, only to realize just before paying that they were stirrup style. What is the point of that? I had to go back to the racks to choose again.

Just around the corner from the hosiery, another interesting event was taking place. Someone had set up a mini beauty salon where they were giving free facials, manicures and (get this) pedicures, right in the middle of the store. The kids were fascinated. I was whatever the opposite of fascinated is. It is one thing to allow someone to apply a little color to your eyelids, which it may be noted, are regularly on view to the public. It is, in my opinion, a whole other issue to be confronted with one’s pasty-white, in-the-bleak-mid-winter, potentially-odiferous feet, freshly unshod for the purpose of another person’s hands to massage and tend to their every need. Ewww. Heather inquired as to her chances of having said services applied to her. Absolutely not! Sorry, gotta go. Now.

We ended up going back to our old stand-by Meijer’s, where I do my weekly grocery shopping. It never ceases to amaze me that we live in a day and age where shoes and clothing can be purchased in the same store as milk, bread and eggs. We did find two different styles of boys’ casual shoes. Trent made a quick decision to go with the brown pair in size 5. Trevor took much longer to finally settle on the black size 4 because they did not “push (his) toes down.”

In the meantime, Heather was carefully checking out all the choices available to girls. She had many more options, but she did not need any more shoes. I had to keep telling her, “Put them back. We aren’t getting any for you today.” She kept whining, “But you always want me to get new Sunday shoes. I don’t understand.” Oh, please.

Thankfully, everyone is now well-shod, that is until Troy sends me out to buy his next pair of work shoes…