Deeply Furious (AKA: Shoes)

When the Reebok Easy Tone shoes came out, the Awesome Opossum and I were all over them. We wanted to tone our glutes and hammies by just walking around. We would call each other and talk about how well they worked and how awesome they were. We could feel the changes. It was embarrassing when Reebok lost that law suit and we looked like the villagers in The Emperor’s New Clothes. What has been more embarrassing, at least for me, is that not only do these shoes not tone your business, they can’t even perform their basic function as shoes. I’ve had them less than a year. The inside on the heel is worn to the plastic, but much worse is that the air filled pockets on the bottoms of the shoes have worn away due to my foot-pounding of this concrete jungle. So now, when I walk in my once fitness-savvy, now foolish, shoes, a puff of deflated air announces my every step. I once wore these shoes proudly, now I try to sneak around while wearing them, which is impossible due to the incessant dying air mattress noise coming from my feet.

In an incident only related through footwear, I also lost a pair of expensive black flats on the subway about four months ago. I wish I could say alcohol was involved, but really I was just having a temper tantrum and lost my shoes mid-pout. Losing those shoes was the last piece of evidence that I can’t have nice things. The last few months have been a sartorial exercise in creativity as I tried to come up with outfits in my mostly black closet that don’t require black shoes. Getting new flats right away would only encourage me to be a little bitch whenever I don’t get enough sleep or have to take twenty extra minutes at allergy shots.

Last night, I released myself from my punishments. I bought new shoes. The sneakers are purple. The Wily Roadrunner, who does actually run in addition to being quite wily, approved of the make and model. The black flats are black; that just seemed like the right way to go. It’s impossible to know if I would enjoy these new shoes as much if I hadn’t spent the last few months squeaking around like a crazy person and putting half of my closet on a time out. Perhaps this enjoyment would be better timed if I weren’t in the middle of a stressful and expensive move, but sometimes shopping is like yoga for the soul. Gigi and I are heading to Ikea in a couple of hours. Namaste.


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