They were gorgeous. Golden, brushed-metallic, Italian leather with perfectly smooth leather soles. High-end kate spade designer shoes. They were, serendipitously, the cutest pair of dainty, lady-like, classic, open-weave loafers that I've ever seen. If Cinderella wore loafers, she would wear these. And even she could have afforded these shoes for the incredibly marked-down price of $39.
"Finally!" I thought.
It IS possible to buy gorgeous designer shoes at reasonable prices! Gone are the days of high-end luxury that we middle class citizens can only dream about by way of Photoshopped People magazine covers. I thought, "Today, I single-handedly begin to turn the tide of fashion towards the middle class citizen and mockingly declare, 'HA!' to Hollywood." Then I peeked at the size.
6.
Gulp.
Quick look around - they are the only pair.
But I'm a 6.5.
On a good day.
For a brief moment, I thought, "Some 6s run large...this can still work!!!! It's meant to be!!!" My wish quickly dissipated when I shoved and squeezed my wider-than-average foot into the left shoe. My toes were crunched like corn flakes to the front. The ball of my foot bulged out the left and right sides of the shoe walls – tempting the seams to burst in half. My heel was completely entrenched and surrounded by leather in such a way that I feared when I removed my foot, there would be a suction "pop!" sound that would turn shopper's heads. My front toe was beginning to lose sensation. And the rest of my foot felt like someone had duct-taped leather directly onto my foot. I began to realize that if I proceeded, the shoes would inevitably wage a painful, unending war against my toes and they would be the bane of my existence in my closet at home.
Afraid to walk in the golden loafers that taunted me with their perfect stitching, I removed the shoe and bemoaned to Mr. Tillett, "Those were the perfect shoes! If only they fit!"
Once again, perfection eluded me.
But I remain undeterred from my quest.
Golden shoes await me somewhere and I intend to find them.
