My mother-in-law was on a quest for summer sandals last week. She has had narrow feet all her life, narrow feet and thus, a narrow array of shoe options. I, on the other hand, have always had wide feet. However, I have not enjoyed a wide array of shoe options. Nevertheless, I have been able to get by in life without too many difficulties in finding shoes I liked and which also fit.
After looking for sandals myself with my mother-in-law, I discovered much to my dismay, that the act of finding shoes one likes and the act of finding ones which fit are, more often than not, mutually exclusive activities. It seems turning forty had a big impact on my feet.
I’ve never really gone in for the super sexy sandal. The practical side of me always wins out and I generally search for a sandal that is cute, yet comfortable. So I began my annual hunt for such a sandal while my mother in law tried to find narrow sandals at a nearby shoe store which markets itself as specializing in hard to fit sizes.
I picked up no less than 10 pairs. Being a seasoned shoe shopper, I knew that not all of these sandals were going to be available in my size. I also knew that of those that were available in my size, some might fit better than others.
As I mentioned already, I am a seasoned shoe shopper, so you can imagine my surprise and indeed, shock, when none of the sandals that came in my size fit! The sandals either fit the front part of my foot (the “toe box” per the saleseman) or they fit my heel, but not both. I was just getting over my initial shock over the probability of none of the sandals fitting ( and had just finished accusing my mother-in-law of jinxing me with her freaky, hard to fit feet), when the salesman suggested that I take a look at the SAS shoe line table. I nearly fell over.
After looking for sandals myself with my mother-in-law, I discovered much to my dismay, that the act of finding shoes one likes and the act of finding ones which fit are, more often than not, mutually exclusive activities. It seems turning forty had a big impact on my feet.
I’ve never really gone in for the super sexy sandal. The practical side of me always wins out and I generally search for a sandal that is cute, yet comfortable. So I began my annual hunt for such a sandal while my mother in law tried to find narrow sandals at a nearby shoe store which markets itself as specializing in hard to fit sizes.
I picked up no less than 10 pairs. Being a seasoned shoe shopper, I knew that not all of these sandals were going to be available in my size. I also knew that of those that were available in my size, some might fit better than others.
As I mentioned already, I am a seasoned shoe shopper, so you can imagine my surprise and indeed, shock, when none of the sandals that came in my size fit! The sandals either fit the front part of my foot (the “toe box” per the saleseman) or they fit my heel, but not both. I was just getting over my initial shock over the probability of none of the sandals fitting ( and had just finished accusing my mother-in-law of jinxing me with her freaky, hard to fit feet), when the salesman suggested that I take a look at the SAS shoe line table. I nearly fell over.
Here is what SAS sandals look like:
Here is my age:
41!
So, you can kind of understand my reaction. I told the guy: “The SAS table? Are you serious? Gimme a break, I am only 41 years old!”
I must admit, in desperation I did actually go over to the SAS table and make sure I wasn’t overreacting. I was not overreacting (though, before I get hate email from SAS groupies, I did later see a pair on the internet that I would not have run screaming from…).
I returned to my seat dejected and disgusted. I asked if there wasn’t anything else out there. After all, this was a specialty store meant to fit freaky sized feet and, unbeknownst to me while I was preoccupied watching my face form gullies and my head sprout grey hairs, my feet had turned freaky in size.
Obviously, since turning forty, something has caused either the front of my feet to spread or my heels to shrink, or probably both. Of course, I blame it on hormones and aging. I now know where the collagen that used to be on my face ended up: in my toe boxes. And the baby spare tire I now sport? You guessed it, probably from my heels.
41!
So, you can kind of understand my reaction. I told the guy: “The SAS table? Are you serious? Gimme a break, I am only 41 years old!”
I must admit, in desperation I did actually go over to the SAS table and make sure I wasn’t overreacting. I was not overreacting (though, before I get hate email from SAS groupies, I did later see a pair on the internet that I would not have run screaming from…).
I returned to my seat dejected and disgusted. I asked if there wasn’t anything else out there. After all, this was a specialty store meant to fit freaky sized feet and, unbeknownst to me while I was preoccupied watching my face form gullies and my head sprout grey hairs, my feet had turned freaky in size.
Obviously, since turning forty, something has caused either the front of my feet to spread or my heels to shrink, or probably both. Of course, I blame it on hormones and aging. I now know where the collagen that used to be on my face ended up: in my toe boxes. And the baby spare tire I now sport? You guessed it, probably from my heels.
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