What is it with the Girl and Her Shoes?
Every relationship has an object that defines it, and for us, it was the shoes. White, high-heeled, and utterly indefensible, each one sported a massive, rose-hued crystal flower. That relentless ‘tip-tap’ sound was the theme music for my first year of dating. My girlfriend had fantastic style, except for her attachment to this shoes, which she wore with every outfit, regardless of color.
The problem was simple: the crystals weren’t built for speed, and once a week, one would pop off. I'd be standing beside her at the local cobbler's shop. He looked at me, fury etched onto his forehead, like I was responsible for all his life troubles.
He’d sigh and quote fifty...a fair price..and then the show began. She’d react with innocent surprise, as if he’d asked her to mortgage her home. She’d scrutinize his work, detailing the integrity of a single dot of adhesive. He always caved. She’d pay a quarter of the price and walk out with the gait of a general who’d won the Battle of the Soles.
I tried to buy peace. Alone one day, I slipped him a crisp hundred. “For the next few,” I murmured. He actually smiled.
But the next time she dragged me in, he looked ready to set the shop on fire. After the loud negotiation, she pulled me away, radiant in her cheap victory. I lagged behind. “What the heck? I paid you!” I whispered. He hissed back, “She came back twice, was sweet, I took the cheap pay with a smile. It backfired. Yesterday, she brought three friends. Three pairs. They all demanded the ‘student discount.’ Now you owe me another 100. I’m moving. You can’t solve her problem with cash.”
That was it..... I threw my hands up. I wasn't going to figure it out,...what was it with the girl and her shoes?
The problem was simple: the crystals weren’t built for speed, and once a week, one would pop off. I'd be standing beside her at the local cobbler's shop. He looked at me, fury etched onto his forehead, like I was responsible for all his life troubles.
He’d sigh and quote fifty...a fair price..and then the show began. She’d react with innocent surprise, as if he’d asked her to mortgage her home. She’d scrutinize his work, detailing the integrity of a single dot of adhesive. He always caved. She’d pay a quarter of the price and walk out with the gait of a general who’d won the Battle of the Soles.
I tried to buy peace. Alone one day, I slipped him a crisp hundred. “For the next few,” I murmured. He actually smiled.
But the next time she dragged me in, he looked ready to set the shop on fire. After the loud negotiation, she pulled me away, radiant in her cheap victory. I lagged behind. “What the heck? I paid you!” I whispered. He hissed back, “She came back twice, was sweet, I took the cheap pay with a smile. It backfired. Yesterday, she brought three friends. Three pairs. They all demanded the ‘student discount.’ Now you owe me another 100. I’m moving. You can’t solve her problem with cash.”
That was it..... I threw my hands up. I wasn't going to figure it out,...what was it with the girl and her shoes?
