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Warning To The Grammarically Correct: If it just bothered you that I wrote "Grammarically", you may as well leave now because my grammar gets even worse.

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Location: Land of Runny Noses, Flatulence, Bugs and Plenty of Roads....d

I'm a wife and mom to three boys. I love everything 80's, anything chocolate and loathes politics. I like to run for fun (preferably NOT in the hot, hot sun)....

Wednesday, May 03, 2006

Heel Shoe Fits....

I was in dire need of spring/summer shoes. The sole of my last good pair of black sandals deflated on me the other day. No really, it deflated just like a balloon. The sole of the sandal sat a little high and as I was walking from the parking lot at work to my office I hear a soft hissing sound coming from my right foot. My office is about a mile away from the parking lot so the more I walked the more I looked like Quasimodo. I made a note that I had to go shoe shopping as soon as I got off of work. Just an FYI, but I am not a shoe diva. Hell I'm not even a shoe slave. I simply buy shoes because I'm not allowed in any establishment without any on my feet. In a perfect world I would walk around in my bare feet. I know my neighbors think I'm crazy and - besides for some obvious reasons- one of those reasons could be that I go outside - no matter the weather - with my hillbilly bare feet.

Things never go as I plan. My plan was to get off work my regular time, pick up Mason from my mom's house and then stop at Kohls to get a pair of shoes. Of all the days to pick up my ringing phone a minute before I was to call it a day - today was the day. Of course it was a problem customer who keeps me at work almost 20 minutes longer than usual. I hurriedly limped to the garage and passed a few high school students. I was ever so happy to amuse them with my sloppily-manuevered strut. From there I uneventfully arrived at my mom's house to pick up Mason and it would be smooth sailing from there, right? Let's see...we had to stop at home to feed Mason because you know after being in traffic jam for forty minutes makes a baby hungry (and mommy just a weensy bit crabby!). After I fed Mason, we headed off to the store. We were there for...oh...about fifteen minutes - give or take - and we were done. Piece of cake! *cough*

By the time Mason and I got home from our excusion Rich was finally home with the older two boys. I went into the house through the garage door with bag and babe in arms. As he sorted through the mail he asks where I've been. I old him where I ventured too and I had to wrestle with the shopping bag to take out the shoebox. I opened the box and grabbed a shoe. "See." I was so proud to show him my purchase. Then I did it. I asked the ever dreaded question. "What do you think? Do you like them?" I should know better...really I should. I have been married to this man for over 11 years and to think I could ask his fashionated-opinion - let alone get an answer I desire - is absurd . He takes one look and says, "They are ugly." I got all defensive and asked, "What's wrong with them?" He started opening the mail and said, "They are just ugly." And that was that.

I can tell you what was wrong with the shoes. There were no uncomfortable straps and/or buckles and they didn't add six inches to my height. The shoes I had bought didn't scream, "COME ON OVER HERE BIG BOY AND I'LL SHOW YOU A GOOD TIME.". The shoes I bought quiestly said, "I am a busy mom and I need to take my boys to their baseball games, doctor visits and other motherly things." Here, let me show you a visual.

Here is the shoe I bought:

This is the shoe Rich wishes I'd bought.
I trip over my own bare feet. I would kill myself in those stilts! I could just see the headline now:

Mom Of Three Dies by Tripping Over Own Feet And Impales Herself With Her Shoe!

Just goes to show you that if the shoe fits, you don't necessarily (or should) have to wear it.


Blogger Bren said...


I hope you don't mind that I'm stalking your blog. The kids are adorable and I just love how you write!

11:27 AM  
Blogger Lisa said...

Thanks so much Bren!

10:04 AM  

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