“We cannot rebuild the arch on these shoes.” Said the sweet lady at the shoe repair shop.
“It’s terminal! You mean there’s not even a bandage of some sort for that sort of thing?”
“No” she replied and continued “and if you try to wear them you are going to break your neck because there is no arch. Do yourself a favor and buy better shoes.”
Note: I buy decent shoes, my measly budget cannot afford any better. Hell, it can’t afford what I’ve got now. I make shoes last for years. So that just got under my skin, well more honestly it made me want to cry.
This was the first time today I wanted to go home, sit in my shoe closet (o.k. so no longer do I have a closet I can sit in, but I like to pretend) and cry.
So I bid aidue to my favorite spring/summer sandals. My black leather ones with the clunky heel, and ivory accent stitching. Comfortable shoes by Nine West. **sniffles**
So RIP my dear shoes, I have loved you for four years. You came from Chicago from the hand of a late family friend by the name of Pat. You were comfortable thur the streets of New Orleans, you’ve been on stage and stuffed in suitcases, you have tromped over many malls and shopping outlets, you have gotten along famously with both suits and jeans. I took you to that bad shoe store to get you fixed on more than on occasion because I knew I couldn’t be without you. Now you sit downstairs awaiting your fate, because you will probably never again reside with the other shoes, but I do not have the heart to throw you away. RIP dear shoes, I hope you go to shoe heaven… if there is such a thing.