There was a time when I used to be a pro at shoe-shopping.
It was one of my limited talents.
I don’t build things, I don’t invent things, I don’t bake things that I see on the Food Network.
But I can buy some shoes.
And then I had strokes.
And my feet were different sizes.
And one didn’t even work.
Did you know they don’t make heels for chicks like me?
So, of course, I had to mess with the lady who sells shoes to paralytics..
“I want something with a 4-inch heel. Preferably stacked.”
“Maybe a sandal with a heel that wraps Grecian style.”
“Well, do you have anything that’s a boot? With a heel, of course.”
“We don’t do heels.”
“Really? How can you NOT do heels? I don’t understand.”
“Ummm, we only….we have…shoes for…..ummm…..”
“Do you mean that ALL your shoes are flats?”
“YES!! All our shoes are flat and are made with no heels.”
Now, being in WHEELCHAIR, it seemed like time to stop playing with this poor woman. Who obviously had no sense of humor. That thought I would actually wear high heeled boots. Brown ones with a back outfit.
Today, instead of making salesladies stutter with confusion, I got the shoes that were ordered special to fit over my leg brace.
Without high heels.
I had to learn to be glad that I could make shoes work at all.
At least if I know I’m missing the high heels, I’m not missing the ability to laugh.