is a single mama in the city, super-savvy editor, writer, video host and shameless shoe whore.
Friday Shoegasm: Jesus wanted me to have these
Thursday, February 3, 2011 Once upon a last October, I was dreaming about these purple suede lovelies. Maybe also spending a little too much time concerning myself with what percentage of boot-buying Americans have 14-inch circumference calves, but mostly just really wanting the shoes. No matter how many times I visited them online, I just could not pull the trigger.
Wait, I whispered to myself while staring at the screen that told me only a few pairs were left. Just wait.
And then they were completely gone. No longer available in my size, a size bigger, or a size smaller. Not in gray. Not even in black. Totally gone.
I remained hopeful, cruising my favorite shoe sites every few days with the hope they'd magically appear. But the closer to Christmas it got, the less likely it seemed these would be the gift I'd be giving myself.
So I did what you do when you are on a seemingly completely out of boot options. I called my mom.
She'd been bugging me for a Christmas list and before I wrote a word, the suede over-the-knee boots had made their way to the top. But I also knew I needed to really get my mom on board, to explain the direness of the situation, the accomplishment it would be to track down these particular shoes, the want and not need they represented -- in sum, a perfect, frivolous gift.
"So there are these Purple Pirate Hooker Boots," I began. Her head snapped up, eyes fixed on mine. She nodded. She was in. She was so in.
And then I waited. I bought other people's gifts, avoiding the shoe sites and trying my very best not to even think about buying myself a back-up pair of boots. This shameless shoe whore was as patient as she could be.
Christmas came and with it, beautiful gifts wrapped in foiled paper and big bows -- fantastic gifts that I loved. There was even a pair of boots. Cute boots. Boots that fit my style (tall, black, suede) and life (wedge heels with a bit of buckled-up sass) but not my foot.
My mother sighed as I squished my little toes into them.
"Oh, I know they're not the Purple Pirate Hooker Boots, but they are cute, right?!" She wanted them to be the ones I wanted, I knew that. And she'd given it her all, not trusting the teenagers at DSW who told her they'd completely sold out of the coveted boots months before -- and the purple went first. She scoured the store for herself and couldn't come up with even one right shoe in the wrong size.
"It's OK," I assured her.She did right by me. She got it without getting them. But the gifted shoes would still have to go back.
A week later, I walked the aisles of the shoe shop, stepping over all the other women there returning and exchanging and trying on the boots that had survived the holiday madness. I registered my initial reactions as I passed by each pair: No, no, no, no, maybe, probably not, oh hell naw, no.
It wasn't looking good. In fact, it was seeming like I might just have to take the cash and run. But in a moment of ehhh, maybe, I grabbed a few huge boxes containing different kinds of boots than I'd normally consider even trying on and decided to just -- what the hell - try them on. I piled them up next to my giant down coat, hat, gloves, scarf, purse, phone and did my obligatory duty. When I finally found a pair that could possibly be passable, I walked over to the full-length mirror to see.
But it wasn't the boots that caught my eye as I edged up to the mirror. It was the rows and rows of clearance racks, and the size 8s were just a few feet away. I'm not sure whether I was pulled or called or carried by some force of footwear magnetism, but I walked over, looked up and immediately spotted them.
Yes, the Purple Pirate Hooker Boots. In my size. One pair. Waiting, just for me.
There was one small Asian woman in her mid-20s hobbling around in 5-inch stilletto Louboutin knockoffs three rows away, but I didn't take any chances. I snatched the box, ran back to my spot, stripped off the lesser-than shoes and got to work getting into the purple prizes.
It wasn't easy stapping into all those buckles and wiggling into the platform footbed, but I did it furiously, as if I had some serious swashbuckling to get to. But then...ohhhh, then...I unfolded the tops over my knees and beheld the boots. They were everything a pirate hooker could want out of a totally impractical slushy winter accessory.
I tried to get a hold of my mom, but my dad answered the phone.
"Remember the Purple Pirate Hooker Boots"? I was talking fast, my heart beating faster.
"Sure?" He was trying his best. He knows the game.
"Well, I found them! And do you know what is even better than finding them after months and months?" I didn't wait for him to fake-answer. "THEY ARE 60% OFF!"
"Ummm, great, honey." I am pretty sure he was already back to his crossword at that point.
"I think Jesus wants me to have them," I capped it off.
"I'm pretty sure He does, honey," he agreed. Or at least said. See? Jesus and my dad wanted me to have them. If it seemed right before, it WAS right now.
I had the boots in my hands. Well, really, I had them wedged on to my legs over my skinny jeans and argyle knee-highs. I wasn't letting them go. Hell, there was a good chance I wasn't going to get them off at all, so clearly they were mine. Finally, finally mine.
Should you ever doubt that all hope is lost for the season's most popular platform inefficacious babies, should you ever think that the right shoes will not find you, should you worry that you will not fulfill your greatest seafarer suede desires -- just wait.
Jesus Christ and the clearance rack are totally on your side.
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