Tuesday, April 17, 2007

A shoe story

Lately I've become a bit enamored of shoes. Heels, to be exact, with peep-toes. It all started innocently enough with this pair from White House Black Market (they're much sexier from other angles). But then I was out with some friends one night and my friend CJ was wearing these:

Now I don't know about you, but I think that's a pretty fabulous-looking shoe. Add to that the fact that my friend assured us the shoes were comfortable (that! comfortable!), and I was sold. (And not just me: another girl we were out with caved last night and bought them too.) We made her take off her shoes so we could see the brand name and go take the credit for her good taste. I ordered them from Nordstrom.com the following morning.

They showed up on Friday, just as gorgeous as the shoe in that picture, size 8 1/2, my size. Well, not quite: they were just small enough that I knew they'd murder my feet, but not so small for me to be certain the 9 would be the right fit, and not too big. (Every so often you're between sizes, and if you want the shoes you just have to suck it up and go with the one that will stay one but chafe, or the one that could fall off when you walk too fast.)

Well, these had shown up in the mail, and I wasn't keen on going through all of the effort of returning them, getting a 9, and finding the 9 didn't fit either. I decided to go find a Nordstrom that had them, or at least similar shoes by the same designer, and try the 9 to see if it was right or not.

Sunday I was down in South Bay to run an errand, and noticed a Nordstrom on my way. I stopped in on my way back home to settle my sizing issue. I explained my situation to the sales guy and asked if they had this particular shoe. They didn't, but had others by the same designer. I asked to try on an 8 1/2 and a 9 so I could decide. The 9 fit! There was hope my red shoes and I might stay together.

The sales guy asked if I had the shoes with me: I could return them there and order the replacement pair online, or he could check and see if other stores had them in my size. I decided that beat the hell out of having to mail them back (honestly, mail: how antiquated), so I went back to my car and retrieved the shoes and the box they'd been shipped in.

Upon my return I wandered around looking for my sales guy, hoping I'd recognize him--I mean, all the sales guys were in similar-colored jackets, going through similar shoe customer-service motions; how am I supposed to pick my sales guy out?--holding onto my oversized box from Nordstrom.com (you'd think they'd have shoebox-sized shipping containers by now). I stand near the register and look around, making sure it's easy to see me so I won't have to go find him. No one approaches me. A guy behind the register who I'm pretty sure wasn't the one who helped me asks if I need help with anything and I explain I'm looking for someone I'd been talking to earlier. (Like that narrows it down.) He calls in back, and a couple minutes later, my sales guy comes out.

"Look what I found."

One pair of red Linea Paolo "Babe" (shut up, yes that's their name) shoes, and they were in my size.

We're going to live happily ever after.

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