New Shoes

Remember these?:


Essentially, I have walked around sock-footed on the balls of my right foot all day Thursday and Friday. You should see the bottom of the sock. The uppers ain't much better either.

I have this thing, possibly inherited from my grandfather, who inherited it from his mother. I buy things cheap and use them until they are unusable. I use them until they are rags, out-of-date, or of such an old generation that the guys in the shop look at them as if they are some sort of antique from the Middle Ages. I use them until they are no longer worn out items but actually souvenirs of whole eras of my lifetime, archaeological records ground into fabric or carved into surfaces, anthropomorphized into comfortable, familiar friends. I'm sure there is some group therapy for this, but first you have to admit you have a problem. I consider it a mere eccentricity.

Eventually, however, I must give in to the fact that the item in question is not longer up to the job at hand. I must consider that, if it were, in fact, a living creature, it would beg me to allow it to retire or to euthanize it. Sometimes, the item simply revolts or dies on its own. Such is the case of these tenny-shoes. They want to retire. They beg me not to find insoles and tramp on until the entire bottom falls off. "Go to K-mart, go to Meijer, go to Wal-mart, even go to the resale shop," these tenny shoes implore. "Just don't walk another step in me." My blistered foot says, "Amen!"

Except, do you know how difficult little, white tenny-shoes are to find these days? Sure, there are close imitations, variations, some even acceptable to my tastes and my wallet. Yet, should I find something the at least approximated my tenny-shoe needs, the store carries every size above and below 7 or 7 1/2, but no actual 7 or 7 1/2. That is, no 7 or 7 1/2 unless you want chartreuse, or pink, or rainbow peace signs on them. Not that I have anything against those colors. I just want basic, little, white tenny-shoes. Call it a failure of taste, call it a habit of thirty years, send me to group therapy where I have to introduce myself by first name only, but this is what I prefer.

First you have to admit it is a problem, and I consider it a mere eccentricity.

Still, I have been to the vintage shop, the resale shop, the Meijer, the K-mart, and even (gasp!) a Wal-mart. Nothing acceptable. Have they gone out of style, but not long enough to be vintage? Do those people who have them, hang on to them because of that? Ah, the mystery of the disappearing basic, white, little tenny-shoe! I thought the classics never died. How can this be?

At last, I drove by a shopping center and saw a Target. Why not try there? Their shoes are often not to my taste, if not downright ugly or obviously cheap. "Ugly," by the way, is a pretty broad category for me, and often intersects with "fashionable." For instance, I hated 99.9% of the clothes on Sex and the City, but everyone else seemed to think they were fabulous. What can I say? I make my own taste, and it is usually something completely out-of-date and uncool in every way possible. At least that keeps my spending on my wardrobe down; but, I digress.

Target came through for me! Basic, little, white tenny-shoes:

Look: no holes in the soles! (Although, I do still have to take the pills.):

My former tennies and my blistered foot would kiss me for joy if they had lips to do so.