It seemed innocuous enough. “Let’s get some Mexican. Oh, and I still need shoes.”
I knew son-in-love was a picky butt with tennis shoes, I did. I’d taken him once before about a month ago and he definitely has different taste in them, but I thought…(my first mistake, thinking)…that I knew what he wanted.
Better yet, I thought he knew what he wanted.
And he did. They just didn’t freaking exist.
*holds up a pair* “These?”
“No.”
*holds up another pair* “These?”
“No.”
*holds up another pair* “These?”
“No, these are douchey shoes.”
“What makes them douchey?”
“Skater boy shoes. Vans, DC’s…douche shoes.”
*moves away from douche shoes and holds up another pair* “These?”
“No.”
*holds up another pair* “These?”
“No.”
*repeat 19,034 times*
“Nathan, please tell me exactly what is wrong with these? Little color, dark color, not too flashy…help me…help you.” (Or help me not kill you – whichever comes first.)
“I don’t know what’s wrong. They’re just not what I want.”
*holds up another pair* “These?”
“No.”
*Walks a few rows over and holds up another pair* “These?”
“I can’t see them over here.”
“Shall I throw them at your head so you can see them better?”
“No. I’ll get there.”
“Dude, I am not standing here waiting on your highness to come two rows over when we’ve already inspected every fucking shoe between you and me!” *smiles lovingly*
*looks up as he’s one row closer* “No.”
I finally sat my fat ass down and tried desperately to remember the days of shoe shopping with Lisa. Oh, she was a pill too, but in a totally different fashion. She’d go one direction, I’d go another, we’d lose each other and have to call, “Olly Olly Oxen Free,” to find each other. I’d finally see a tuft of curls pop over a shelf and find her…surrounded by 10 pair of potentials and a big grin. “I can’t decide!!!!”
Nathan and I had been at this one shoe store for, I kid you not, 45 minutes and he hadn’t tried on one bloody pair.
*points to another pair* “These?”
“Eh. Maybe.”
A light! Oh my goodness, a light! He said “maybe”. This is…you have no idea how many levels of amazing this is. So, I look at the maybe shoe and try to figure out what’s different between it and every.pair.I’ve.already.pointed.out. I’m clueless.
“What’s different?”
“It doesn’t have all that shit all over it.”
*blinks* “What shit?”
“That…*fiddles hands all over the sides of the maybe shoe*…shit. The stripes and the leather strapping and the mesh and the…shit.”
So, I stand, head to a new aisle mumbling to myself, “No shit. Tennis shoes with no shit.”
Progress starts when I convince him to try on the maybe pair. Except, they don’t have his size. But, once he starts trying things on, his mind opens a bit and we find a few more pairs with no shit.
Over an hour later. An hour. For a college male who has no concern for fashion outside of his winter pea coat, I nervously show him a pair of Vans. Remember? Douche shoes.
“Oh. I like those. Do they have my size?”
They did. I point out a few more douche shoes and he thinks the tongue is too thick. Or too stiff. Or the ones near the douche shoes look too much like golf shoes. But, this first pair of Vans? Yeah, just the right amount of douche, apparently.
“You could put funky colored shoe laces in them to make them more you.”
“Yeah. I could.” *wiggles toes* “I like these.”
I decide not to remind him they’re douche shoes.
Because truly? I did want to come home tonight.
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