Something out of this world affected my family and me. We had a non-sport commitment Saturday we didn’t know how to fill. This is uncharted territory. My little guys suggested something of their own free will, a novel idea: Shopping in The City and dinner afterward. My husband agreed. Good heavens, it’s like the out-of-bounds freedom threw them out of orbit. It gets stranger.
I wasn’t so sure I wanted to shop. I know! Did the antibiotics from two weeks ago over-correct and take away the shopping bug too? Say, scare the bug out of one body into three others? Geez! Earth must be upside down or we are living the movie Freaky Friday. I’m out numbered, so I have no choice but to go along with the plan. I must shop. I’ll sacrifice myself for the family, like I always do. Martyrdom is nothing new.
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| “Office” Attire |
We arrived downtown and split up in front of Macy’s. The three guys go their way and I go mine. I spent a few minutes in Macy’s shoe department, arms crossed. I didn’t want to talk to anyone; I’m not in the mood. I discovered some obnoxious shoes a “night walker” might wear to stop traffic for biz, neon orange platform stilettos. It stopped me in the store aisle and bet it’s more effective on the street in the dark, better than a boring old caution cone.
I can’t really connect, however. This is not how I wanted to spend my day, shopping or shopping for somebody else’s trashy closet. Macy’s is so big I find myself wondering on the wrong side of the tracks. I’m wasting time. I can’t get comfortable. I kept thinking about my favorite place, my go-to-retail-therapy stop, my Nordstrom. The Fall Sale is in progress and boots, are kickin’ deal-bootie–cute and oh-so affordable. I’m off like a shot. The adrenaline is rising.
Earth was still out of whack as I’m looking through the shoe department, not sure if I want to spend money. A being of another world approaches me. Jessica, a maroon-red-headed Asian with tattoos enough to cover the Sistine Chapel asks me how I’m doing and can she help with anything. I barely look up, partly out of fear of her ability to serve me properly and my inability to avoid staring at all that artwork. I answer, “Ah. I’m just kind of looking.”
Then the alien-like girl pushes a little more, “Are your shoes Ecco?”
Conversation Starter.
Hmm. She knows her earthly shoe stuff. My arms uncross and I make eye contact. What’s with the tiny black star tattooed beneath her right eye? Did she catch it on her way from a galaxy far, far away to planet earth? I answer her because I love anything to do with shoes. “Why yes. My boys hate them.”
“How old are they,” she asks sincerely.
I don’t really want to get too personal but I tell her, “Twelve and Fourteen.”
“Oh, they hate everything at that age,” she states with authority.
She’s closer to their age than I am so she probably is speaking truth. She likes my shoes so I ask her a question, a table-turner.
“Ok, I’m looking for boots. You see this stuff all the time. What would you pick?” I look her in the eye again and confirm the black star is not a mirage. Whoa, she is from some place else. She’s wearing silk navy and white spotted shorts with black tights. A bridge and tunnel away from my hometown and my how the styles change in The City.
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| Killer! |
She picked out three boots, two of which I was ogling anyway. She pushed for the non-black pair, kind of dark, dark, reddish brown with shiny gold metalwork. I’m into getting what I like and not what goes with the other forty practical things in my over-stuffed closet where I can’t find anything to wear. (I’ve been at this new strategy for a month.) A non-fashionista gal votes for the boots too so I know it’s not over the edge. We all like them. Shoes are the ticket to finding common ground and forming friendships, maybe world peace. (Just get the women to lead all of humanity and all will be right with the world via the shoe.)
Jessica and I are clicking. She knows me well enough now to suggest a pair of spectator hush puppies, black suede. “You’re so cute. I thought you might like to try them.”
Yes, I would like to try them. They are on trend for fall, so I was flattered she thought of me like that, given I’m wearing sneaks my youngsters hate. They didn’t fit so I passed. But those boots, they belonged to me. Jessica was like a girlfriend of the shopping moment, a pleasant surprise in my crazy day with the guys.
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