Picking on Donna…
Over the weekend, I coined a phrase: “Blogable Offense.” This came to pass when, ahem, Donna and I went shoe shopping. I’ll bet you can guess who wanted shoes. Right. Wasn’t me. I own:
- gym shoes–one pair,
- hiking boots–one pair,
- black loafers–one pair,
- brown loafers–one pair.
That’s it…unless you count slippers. I own–one pair. Donna has more shoes than…well…most folks.
We were stopped for the 200th time that day at a shoe store. Musta looked at 3,000 shoes up to that point. We stood before a pair of shoes that looked exactly like 2,999 other shoes we’d seen: brown, women’s, dress shoes. I was in a shoe-induced coma.
I brushed consciousness long enough to hear Donna opine that these shoes are the perfect color. This heretofore unheard phrase was like a bucket of cold water over my head; I snapped to attention. Lord God be praised, I thought!
I fawned around Donna, making encouraging sounds and faces. Please, God, hear my prayer. Bring this agony to an end and I will never sin again. Hell, I’ll even tithe.
Then, the magic words, “I’ll try these on.”
Trumpets blare! I stagger to a chair in Donna’s wake.
She tries on the shoes.
I’m nearly salivating and ready to weep…if these turn out to be, The Ones.
LORD…THEY FIT! Suddenly, I’m conflicted, happy they fit, but nervous about my heavenly promise. I start fomenting ways to weasel out of my thirty-second old commitment. It takes grit to renege on God.
Donna walks about. “These are very comfortable.”
I nod like Odie the Dog in sartorial support and encouragement.
Then, in her best Bret Farve imitation, she says, “But…”
I nearly collapse at the sound of that qualifying word most foul. The qualifier is followed by “…these are open toe with a heel strap.”
I sag.
Her bottom lip extends. “No,” she frowns, “these aren’t right.”
“You had to try them on to reject them on the basis of what they look like?”
I receive a silent, withering look. I collapse in a mass of tears.
Ignoring me, Donna re-boxes the shoes and wanders off to another corner of the store.
Sales people stop to help me stand, wipe my tears, snotty nose, and send me off to find my wife. We make a third circuit of the cavernous shop. Through the veil of defeat, I discover we’re again, standing before the previously disparaged open-toed, heel-strapped, perfect color, comfortable shoes.
“You know, I like these,” she says, picking up the box.
“But…but…these are, you know, open-toed and with a heel strap. You don’t like that.
“Honestly, Galen, who told you that?”
“That’s it. I’m blogging about this on Monday.”
“I hate it when you pick on me in the blog.”
“Sorry, Donna, but this is a blogable offense.”
Thanks for stopping by. Hope to see you again on Wednesday.
Themocracy
Tell her I agree wholeheartedly – that was a blogable offense!!!
I have to side with you, Galen. I still have shoes that I wore in college that I’ll pull out to wear when I need to be dressed up. Shoe shopping ISN’T fun.
Elizabeth
Mystery Writing is Murder
Sucks to be you – and I mean that in a nice way!
Can’t relate to your wife. I’m not into shoes and only own a couple pair.
And I really hate shoe shopping. Clothes shopping, too!
Get even, Galen. Make her go shopping for software with you.
I don’t see how you survived. I hate shoe shopping. I can’t image looking at shoes for that long. Definitely a blogable offense.
What a fun post! (Donna’s a good sport to let you blog about her.) I love your guy-speak: blogable offense, shoe-induced coma and mentioning the waffling Brett Farve. I’d never dream of taking my husband shopping for shoes, because, well, he’d rather stay home and watch football. You’re a good sport too!
I’m SO laughing. I love shoes . . . L-O-V-E love them. But as much as I love shoes, that’s how much I hate shopping. So I only go shoe shopping when I’m forced to go shopping for other things. Then I stop at any and all shoe stores, too. My live-in handyman tries to avoid these trips at all costs.
Thanks for the laugh. In my opinion and in Donna’s defense, the decision to try on or buy a certain pair of shoes (or any apparel), does not have to be based on reason.
Never joke about shoes. Shoes are holy. It’s a girl thing. Okay, maybe not for all of us, but for LOTS of us. And no, you can never know if they’re right until you try them on.
This is so hilarious. And oh so true. My wife has a literal bin of shoes in the closet, some of which haven’t seen the light of day since she bought them. I’ll have to remember this term though (and yes, I’ll give you full credit).
Did you see the SuperBowl commercial by FLO TV? The injury report?
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3M-KybkB_XU
Is that you?
Ha ha ha.
I have like five pair of shoes and none of them can be considered new. I should buy new ones and will. Eventually. Yeah, wifey has a lot of shoes. Its crazy. I think they mate and multiply at night.
Stephen Tremp
You have an award at my blog.
I totally consider this a blogable offense and nod like Odie the Dog in sartorial support and encouragement.
The Old Silly
Great post! I don’t think men will ever understand how much women love their shoes, and the ritual that is shopping for them! I think dragging your man shopping for shoes is on a par with him making you watch football for a whole match – its about sacrifices on both
That’s so funny, but I wonder how Donna talked you into going shopping in the first place. I’d never get my husband to go shopping with me unless he was the one who needed shoes and had to try them on.
I’m with Patricia…up to a point. I don’t think Donna talked you into shoe shopping and I want to know what you did to get you into so much emotional debt that you had to go shoe shopping? I’m with you – a shoe induced coma. I hate shoe shopping and I hate shoe companies that come out with something brilliant that I can’t find ever again (except for you darling Mephisto! You’re different…)And if Ron ever came shoe shopping with me, while I can’t imagine. I could more easily get him to the opera.
I really like what you write about here. I try and visit your site every day so keep up the good writing!