For my birthday I gave very specific requests to my family. After all, we’re on a tight budget and there are just little things I could really use, you know? Like a pair of jeans that fit just right on my new, mom-of-two body, boxes and boxes of coffee for my Keurig, and babysitting hours because…well… obviously.
I sent my sister on a particular mission. Find me some shoes. Not just any shoes. Shoes that I would never choose for myself. And if I did choose them for myself, shoes that I would leave in my closet because if worn, the comments at work about my change of fashion sense (meaning, they would notice I finally had some) would be embarrassing. However, if she were to buy them for me, I would be forced to wear them out of guilt. She also threatened that if I did not wear whatever shoes she bought, that she would never let me live it down…. the guilt would become unbarable.
And a cute pair of shoes she delivered. Exactly what I wanted. And when I woke up the morning I planned on wearing my new shoes, I had everything set just right. I had the outfit crisp and clean, my hair did to the nines, everything ready for that final touch…. those red, shiny, sexy shoes.
When I put them on I immediately frowned. They had not been so uncomfortable when I tried them on. Major fail. I would need to return them. Until I noticed my flaw.
They were on the wrong feet.