You all had such great advice to offer on my recent shoe queries that on Tuesday afternoon I got to feeling quite inspired, and took the girls over to the nearest Stride Rite outlet (Arsenal Mall in Watertown, for all you fellow Bostonites out there...) to get their feet measured and, perchance, to buy some shoes.
Things started out well. Despite the fact that they'd only taken about a 20-minute afternoon nap, the girls were in good spirits as we loaded up into the car. (Cah! Cah! Cah!) People held doors open for me as I maneuvered the double stroller into the mall, which put me in a "maybe humanity is OK after all," sort of mood -- a mood good enough that I felt only mildly, not completely, nauseated as I passed a Victoria's Secret display featuring cotton t-shirts for teenieboppers that read "Think Green, Live Pink," paired with matching panties. (Yeah, fine, I guess it's not a totally bad thing that environmentalism is trendy; but wouldn't a better way for people to save the earth be, er, not buying so much shit they don't need?)
Anyway, at Stride Rite, a very nice young man measured the girls' feet, and we found out that Elsa is a 5 to 5-1/2 and Clio is a 4-1/2. While Elsa had her small, gigantic foot on the Brannock device, Clio whined to be taken out of the stroller, and while Clio had her lil feets measured, Elsa toddled off into the next aisle saying "shizz! shizz! shizz!" I tried, for a few futile minutes, to let them both walk around, but it was like herding cats. Cats that walk in opposite directions pulling boxes off the shelves and saying "shizz!" (I am starting to understand the benefit of those "leashes" some people use with their toddlers.)
So, back into the stroller my little shoppers went. This was a big let-down, of course, after the fun of cavorting freely about among rows and rows of shizz, so they whined and I had to give them graham cracker after graham cracker (why did we ever teach them the sign for "more"?) to keep them quiet while I attempted to browse. But there was nothing suitable in their sizes for under $25, deals and sales notwithstanding. I am really spoiled, having gotten by almost exclusively with gifted, second-hand, and hand-me-down clothes and shoes up until this point. And I'm cheap as hell. So the thought of spending even $50 total on shoes they'll outgrow in a few months made my inner Scrooge shudder. Also, I knew there was a Marshall's at the other end of the mall.
But we had no luck there either. The only decent pair of flexible, sneaker-like shoes I found in the girls' size were ugly and shiny and iridescent pink and had not one, not two, but THREE Disney cartoon princesses on them. They were decently priced -- $14.99, I think -- but I just couldn't do it. A time will come -- sooner than I think -- when they will probably be begging me for this shit, and I will probably relent. But until then, I'm sorry. No. I really don't feel like advertising a multi-billion dollar media and merchandising empire on my children's feet, unless, of course, Disney Inc. would like to pay me to do it.
So, there you go. I'm too much of a yuppie snob to do ugly pink Belle and Ariel from Marshall's, and too cheap to do tasteful and orthopedically correct from Stride Rite. But at least I got the girls' feet sized, so now I can go to this weekend's tag sale armed and dangerous. Or do some E-bay stalking. And then, when I don't find the right shoes in the right sizes, I can get in my car and go to some big-box discount store and buy crappy $10 shoes made in Indonesia by the same 12-year-old children who make the "Think Green, Live Pink" T-shirts for Victoria's Secret. Yay, me!
Meanwhile, today, Elsa and Clio played in the wet grass in the backyard in barely big enough hand-me-down Robeez that look like they've been chewed on, swallowed, and then spit up by dingos. And they could care less.
Shoeless!
Shoeless!
Moonlight sleepin' on a midnight lake.
I really need to stop overthinking this and buy my daughters some fucking shoes.