The kids and I took Rach out for a Mother's Day ice cream at our favorite local custard stand, Doozles, today, and afterwards, Rach and I were on such a sugar-confidence high that we decided to take the kids to Target, mainly to pick out new sneakers and sandals for Mini-Me, but subconsciously, to test out our sanity.
The experience was nothing like what I remember from childhood shoe-shopping adventures. Mini-Me and I approximated his appropriate shoe size using a mat on the floor before he sat on the carpeted aisle and Rach helped him try on several pairs of shoes, each connected to its matching mate via elastic string and plastic tie. In this world of convenient superstores, gone are the salesmen who measure your foot with a cold metal Brannock Device, disappear into a back room, return with a stack of boxes, and assist you into each new pair before pressing on your toes and conspiring with your mom to make you walk around the store (and sometimes into the mall) awkwardly as you try to catch a glimpse of the shoes in mirrors in order to judge if coolness outweighs comfort.
Luckily for him, maybe, we didn't make Mini-Me shuffle around in the shoes to test them out, but he also skipped out on my favorite part of childhood shoe shopping: boxing up the old shoes and wearing the new ones home. A new pair of shoes never felt so good!
No comments:
Post a Comment