Call me narcissist if you must but this blog is all about ME. I have another blog about my kids, whom I love and adore writing about. But I was Nicole a long time before I was mom and I don't intend to give up being Nicole overnight.
You can read all about my kids at Naptime Optional.
Or you can follow along on our Arizona adventure on my 365 project blog.
Monday, May 19, 2008
always the wrong shoes
So imagine my own chagrin last weekend when I found myself in a wrong shoe dilemma. At the end of the season last summer I found on clearance these really cute black flip-flops with sparkly straps and just a little tiny heel. Super cute, believe me. And I was dying for a chance to try them out.
So last weekend my husband and I went out to dinner with some friends and I decided to give them a try. I thought I'd walk from the car to the restaurant and then from the restaurant to the car. A perfect way to try out new shoes, right?
Well, the first problem was that we went to dinner at the Gateway. That in and of itself was way more walking than I intended to do in my flip-flop heels. But I managed okay. At least we parked in the parking garage that was actually at the same end of Gateway as the restaurant we were eating at.
At this point I thought we'd go home...but no. We decided to check out the new Cheesecake Factory for a little dessert. Well, the wait was 90 minutes. 90 MINUTES!!! At this point I really have to use the little girl's room so we walk over to the mall to find a bathroom. We literally walked from one end of the mall to the other and back again trying to find a bathroom clean enough to use. And I've used some dirty bathrooms in my day, but these bathrooms were out of control! UG!!!! I've seen gas station bathrooms cleaner than some of the ones we encountered at the mall. Plus by this point my feet were really starting to hurt.
And we'd only wasted 40 minutes or so. So we gave up on the Cheesecake Factory and decided to go catch a movie. Upon arriving at the movie theater there was, of course, no parking close to the theater, so again I was walking, in my new shoes, on my sore feet. When was the torture going to end?
But the time the movie ended, having been off my feet for few hours, there was no way I was going to be able to hobble out to the car at the far far end of the parking lot. My feet were rebelling.
So I begged my husband to give me a piggy back ride. Which, magically, he agreed to. So I hop up on his back and suddenly I felt a little juvenile. I said to him, "so do you feel like you're in high school again?" but I let him carry me all the way to the car just the same, because man my feet hurt!
The moral of the story? Tennis shoes are always the way to go.