Since my husband had a five-dollar birthday coupon for DSW, and since I need some short boots, and he needs sneakers, we decided to go shoe shopping. As I marched my Dublin stubs (my legs) through the door, I eyeballed the long boots, even though I knew not to get my hopes up. I have one pair of long boots, but I need my husband to help me zip them, as I have incredibly thick legs for a short, size 8 girl. I’m talking legs that could protect you during a tornado. My legs are the size of someone Richard Simmons would cry over. I don’t want to need help to put my boots on. Coco Chanel’s entire reason for designing simpler clothes was so that women could dress themselves. And I do love me some Coco.
My husband encouraged me to try on long boots. He even got a pair labeled “wide calf” off the shelf. Guess what? They didn’t fit either. For real. I’m a size 8. I’m not skinny, but I am also not a rhino. Seriously? They don’t make boots to fit me? I wanted to walk up to this woman who was much bigger than me, who had long boots on, and ask her where the heck she got them.
And it’s not a matter of losing weight, gym rat friends. Even when I weighed 105 pounds, I had thick ankles and calves. I could not wear an ankle bracelet comfortably. [Waves to mom’s side of the family, holding up middle finger] Thanks for the fat legs, guys! It shocks me that some people actually get calf implants. Really? You actually want big legs?
I tried on some shoes and boots, and found a lot of things I did NOT like. I ended up getting a pair of Steve Madden slippers. Because as your friendly neighborhood work at home mom and hermit, I need more slippers. Whenever I see Steve Madden shoes I think of this scene in Wolf of Wall Street: STEVE MADDEN (FF to 1:30).
We spent some time being disappointed in DSW before we moved on to rolling our eyes at Kohl’s, where some Jackwagon left a dog in a car, even though it was TWELVE degrees out. I reported him/her. After Kohl’s we had to stop at the grocery store. Joy. Then, when we finally got home, and started to cook dinner, the sink clogged, and flooded the entire cabinet area under the sink, and my husband sliced his finger open. Really? First I can’t wear boots and now this?
Did I mention that I skipped lunch?
Here are all of the shoes I HATED: