A heel dilemma
Yesterday, I bought three pairs of shoes, because I need some fall shoes and I don’t think I’ve bought shoes in the past year. I particularly needed a nice new pair of work shoes, but since DSW are heartless bastards, all of their nice work shoes cost more than $20 a pair, which is what I’ve been paying for the last 24 years, and which might explain why I constantly need new shoes.
I stood in front of the high heels section for a good half hour, trying to find a pair that didn’t have a heel that was higher than an inch (because high-heeled shoes destroy your back and if there’s anything more annoying than being hypochondriac it’s being justified in being hypochondriac) and that was at a price I felt comfortable with. I paced back and forth, trying to justify the $50 pricetag on a pair of shoes, because I’ve been brought up that you should never buy for full price if you can buy on sale. I didn’t know jeans cost more than $25 until I went to college.
It was a struggle within myself of herculean proportions as I picked out these shoes, took them to the register, took them back, bit my lip, sucked it up, and bought $50 shoes, because I am a Working Woman who has her own money and can have nice things, damnit.
Then I called my mom.
“Mom, you’ve ruined my childhood, ” I said right off the bat.
“By sacrificing and bringing you to America?”
“No, by raising me to be cheap, in the family tradition.”
“I’m very proud of that.”
“Yeah, but now I can’t even buy a pair of shoes without feeling guilty and repneting afterwards.”
“I’m proud that I’ve taught you life skills.”
“Well, I bought myself a pair of shoes for $50 today, so ha!”
I paused a second.
“But I also bought two other pairs on clearance.”
“That’s my girl.”