October 25, 2011
My daughter needs new shoes for school. Instead of buying a new pair of sneakers, she proposed that I buy her a pair of boots.
This would not be such a bad thing had my daughter (who is 8) not realized over the summer that she can wear a size 6 woman's shoe.
I'm sure you know where this is going.
"I'll buy you anything on this row," I told her, gesturing to the kids' shoe aisle at Walmart.
Camber shriveled up her nose. "I want something with a heel."
"And pointy toes and fringe coming off the side."
I struggled to form a mental image of the boots she was describing that didn't include a pole dancer or a character from Dances with Wolves.
I held up a pair of generic Ugg boots. "What about these?"
She stomped off and hid in the women's underwear section, behind a rack of gigantic bras.
"The ice cream is melting," I reminded her, gesturing to the overflowing shopping cart. "So we've got to hurry up. Do you want the boots or not?"
Her arms were folded across her chest. "Not."
I was loading groceries onto the conveyor belt when she disappeared. Mildly panicked, I scanned the horizon. In the distance, I saw a shape hobbling towards me. The figure could barely walk, due to the two-inch heels...and the elastic band that was holding the boots together.