My left foot is not an artistic tool. At the moment, it merely hurts.
Today was another truckless day. Because I had errands to run, I set off on foot to take care of them. All in all, I probably logged another 10 miles today.
But halfway through, my left foot started hurting. I have a pair of Dockers shoes that are my favorites for walking. And, as is true for all favorite shoes, they are about to give up their sole.
Because I am moving, I thought this was a great chance to get two pairs of comfortable shoes: a brown pair and a black pair. Enough shoes to outfit a man's closet for two or three years.
I had seen sales all over town for Rockport and Dockers shoes. Apparently, the retailers are as desperate for traffic as a Buick salesman.
Here is the tricky part. I inherited my grandmother's feet. Well, not really. I inherited her genes. She still had need of her own feet for an additional three decades after I was born.
I wear a 7 1/2 W. In the days when shoes were built for customers, rather than accountants worried about inventory, I wore a 7 1/2 EE.
The problem is easy to visualize. My feet are almost square. Imagine Daffy Duck looking for shoes. That would be me.
I visited six different stores today. They all had shoes I was ready to buy, but none had 7 1/2s, and Ws were as rare as they were on White House keyboards in January 2001.
Each salesman tried the ugly stepsister routine on me. "Here try this 8M. It will stretch out." Rip out is more like it.
At the last stop (Nordstrom's), I was ready to give up until the salesman had an idea. Some of the European shoes are wide by American standards. He whisked out pair of Eccos that looked just this side of being a bowling shoe.
Voilà -- or whatever the Italians would say. If I were Cinderella, I would be a step closer to happily ever after.
I told the ingenious salesman, I'll take them. Gave him my credit card. And gaped at the total.
I will spare you the gory details. Let me just say that I could have had four pairs of Dockers in my closet -- all of them the wrong size, of course. I expect a personal thank you note from the president for keeping the Salem retailers in business.
Will my left foot feel any better? I'm not certain. What I do know is that these Eccos are not made for beach walking -- no matter what Nancy Sinatra may sing.
Today was another truckless day. Because I had errands to run, I set off on foot to take care of them. All in all, I probably logged another 10 miles today.
But halfway through, my left foot started hurting. I have a pair of Dockers shoes that are my favorites for walking. And, as is true for all favorite shoes, they are about to give up their sole.
Because I am moving, I thought this was a great chance to get two pairs of comfortable shoes: a brown pair and a black pair. Enough shoes to outfit a man's closet for two or three years.
I had seen sales all over town for Rockport and Dockers shoes. Apparently, the retailers are as desperate for traffic as a Buick salesman.
Here is the tricky part. I inherited my grandmother's feet. Well, not really. I inherited her genes. She still had need of her own feet for an additional three decades after I was born.
I wear a 7 1/2 W. In the days when shoes were built for customers, rather than accountants worried about inventory, I wore a 7 1/2 EE.
The problem is easy to visualize. My feet are almost square. Imagine Daffy Duck looking for shoes. That would be me.
I visited six different stores today. They all had shoes I was ready to buy, but none had 7 1/2s, and Ws were as rare as they were on White House keyboards in January 2001.
Each salesman tried the ugly stepsister routine on me. "Here try this 8M. It will stretch out." Rip out is more like it.
At the last stop (Nordstrom's), I was ready to give up until the salesman had an idea. Some of the European shoes are wide by American standards. He whisked out pair of Eccos that looked just this side of being a bowling shoe.
Voilà -- or whatever the Italians would say. If I were Cinderella, I would be a step closer to happily ever after.
I told the ingenious salesman, I'll take them. Gave him my credit card. And gaped at the total.
I will spare you the gory details. Let me just say that I could have had four pairs of Dockers in my closet -- all of them the wrong size, of course. I expect a personal thank you note from the president for keeping the Salem retailers in business.
Will my left foot feel any better? I'm not certain. What I do know is that these Eccos are not made for beach walking -- no matter what Nancy Sinatra may sing.
