Monday at DSW
Because I like to torture myself, I regularly go off in search of comfortable-yet-sexy sandals. My last such expedition guided me to a pair of Rockports, which felt wonderful in the store, set me back about $70, and then promptly tore up my pinky toes on the streets of Savannah. They are visible here (second picture from the top, upper right, in the black pants).
Yesterday, after being jostled by no less than half a dozen sweaty, pushy women, I found a pair of Aerosoles that I nearly bought. They were strappy, pleasantly designed, and comfortable in the store (although we all know what that's worth). Unfortunately, they were brown leather with very visible white stitching, and they reminded me just a little too much of those brown plastic sandals with fake stitching sold at drugstores that old men wear around Motel 6 pools with blue socks. If they came in black, though, I would have bought them.
Instead, I decided to purchase a bone-colored "pleather" bag, having convinced myself that I constantly depress those around me with my dark wardrobe, and that I need to lighten up for the summer, and that most people wouldn't know real from fake if it bit them in the eye. (That last part didn't take all that much convincing.)
The line to pay was several women deep, but it was moving fast. The cashiers were calling, "Nex!" at a furious pace.
The woman in front of me on line must have caught sight of untold purse-and-sock-and-Burt's Bees riches (seriously, isn't that a pretty random product line to sell at a shoe store?), because she barely muttered "I'll be right back, miss," without looking at me as she walked off.
While a normal person wouldn't give it a second thought, I was suddenly agitated. Clearly, she expected me to hold her place in line, despite not having actually asked me to. What if I was called to the cashier before she returned? What if the new people joining the line objected to my allowing her to "cut" in front of me? What if she wanted to beat me up for jumping the queue? I looked around for a weapon; if I used the heel of a $399.90 pair of Jimmy Choos to defend myself, the powers that be would no doubt ask me to pay for them.
"Nex!" called the cashier. "Miss, NEX!" It was my turn. The other woman was nowhere in sight.
Eager to procure my bag--the last of the red-hot pleathers--I scampered up and paid as quickly as possible before making my escape.
Yesterday, after being jostled by no less than half a dozen sweaty, pushy women, I found a pair of Aerosoles that I nearly bought. They were strappy, pleasantly designed, and comfortable in the store (although we all know what that's worth). Unfortunately, they were brown leather with very visible white stitching, and they reminded me just a little too much of those brown plastic sandals with fake stitching sold at drugstores that old men wear around Motel 6 pools with blue socks. If they came in black, though, I would have bought them.
Instead, I decided to purchase a bone-colored "pleather" bag, having convinced myself that I constantly depress those around me with my dark wardrobe, and that I need to lighten up for the summer, and that most people wouldn't know real from fake if it bit them in the eye. (That last part didn't take all that much convincing.)
The line to pay was several women deep, but it was moving fast. The cashiers were calling, "Nex!" at a furious pace.
The woman in front of me on line must have caught sight of untold purse-and-sock-and-Burt's Bees riches (seriously, isn't that a pretty random product line to sell at a shoe store?), because she barely muttered "I'll be right back, miss," without looking at me as she walked off.
While a normal person wouldn't give it a second thought, I was suddenly agitated. Clearly, she expected me to hold her place in line, despite not having actually asked me to. What if I was called to the cashier before she returned? What if the new people joining the line objected to my allowing her to "cut" in front of me? What if she wanted to beat me up for jumping the queue? I looked around for a weapon; if I used the heel of a $399.90 pair of Jimmy Choos to defend myself, the powers that be would no doubt ask me to pay for them.
"Nex!" called the cashier. "Miss, NEX!" It was my turn. The other woman was nowhere in sight.
Eager to procure my bag--the last of the red-hot pleathers--I scampered up and paid as quickly as possible before making my escape.
Copyright 2005-2010 by Arabella and Trattoria Breve. All rights reserved. 9:17 AM
3 Comments:
Hey, you're covered. It's not like she asked you to hold her place, right? All's fair in love, war, and shopping.
Act like you are deaf? Thats a good one. You could just make like you don't speak English. Or better yet, do as I do, just keep saying "I beg your pardon?" until they give up.
This works better than my old trick: telling any stranger who said anything to me under such circumstances to "Bug off!" or "Drop dead!"
When the white leather Fossil bag I wanted was sold out online, I bought a mustard-yellow pleather handbag by Rosetti at the PX. It has a great shape, braided handles, mod hardware, and came with a clutch inside of it. Let me tell you, it's the BOMB. I get loads of compliments on it and love it and the color goes with everything.
I'm also a sexy but comfortable sandle fiend. I have some streamlined, lady-like suede Teva's that I got from TravelSmith last year that fit the bill.
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