This is a husband who loves his wife very, very much.
I went with Colleen to the shoe store.
I was done shopping 20 minutes ago, but my wife is still wandering. I mean… shopping.
I saw her put two pairs back.
That means those shoes made it through the initial vetting process but, at the last minute, didn’t make the cut.
Now she has started over.
We’ll be here awhile.
Women in shoe stores are like people visiting a museum.
They look.
They admire.
They move on.
Then repeat.
These are shoes, ladies. Not houses.
Pick a pair and roll the dice.
If you don’t like them, bring them back and start wandering around again next week.
The music they’re playing isn’t helping.
If I were the DJ, I’d at least commit to the theme.
I’d play:
Blue Suede Shoes (Elvis Presley)
These Boots Are Made for Walkin’ (Nancy Sinatra)
Boogie Shoes (KC and the Sunshine Band)
And for the 80s fans…
Literally anything by Nu Shooz.
Shoe shopping update:
Colleen found one pair.
She left them with me and informed me that I was now responsible for guarding the box with my life.
She’s currently heading back into the wilds of shoe shopping to locate Pair Number Two.
Meanwhile…
The situation has escalated.
Not only am I guarding the first pair of shoes…
…Colleen has also handed me her purse.
I told her I couldn’t possibly hold it.
It didn’t go with my outfit.
Apparently that was not the correct thing to say.
So now I’m sitting here guarding shoes and holding a purse.
I’ve been here so long that customers have started asking me questions.
“Do these come in an 8?”
I don’t know.
But I looked concerned and said:
“Let me check in the back.”
Apparently that was the correct answer.
Three hours later I was helping people find:
Strappy Sandals,
Block Heels,
Wedges,
Kitten Heels (Meow…), and
Dressy Crocs (I just poked holes in Jimmy Choo knock-offs for that.).
The manager gave me a nametag.
I was Employee of the Month by my second break.
By dinner I had my own parking space, qualified for benefits, and was training new hires.
I got hungry and ordered a pizza.
Forty-five minutes later there was no pizza.
An hour later, still nothing.
Finally I called the restaurant.
They said:
“The driver arrived.”
“Then what happened?”
“She’s currently trying on ‘Real Cute’ Ankle Boots.”
“Did she at least bring the pizza inside?”
“No, sir. The pizza is still in the car.”
Oh well, I guess Intermittent Fasting is still a thing, right?
Around sunset I started planning my escape.
I mapped out the exits.
Timed employee movements.
Made notes.
The old guy in aisle seven said:
“You won’t make it.”
I asked how long he’d been there.
He said:
“Since Father’s Day.”
He looked away for a moment.
“Tell my family I love them.”
Then suddenly… it was over.
The manager gave Colleen every pair of shoes for free if she’d agree to leave and take me with her.
As we walked out, the employees formed two lines and applauded.
One guy was crying.
Another handed me a commemorative plaque.
It read:
“Longest Continuous Husband Wait Since Records Began.”
I will cherish it always.
In fact, I’ll put it right next to my Employee of the Month award.
The End
Assuming they don’t call me in to cover a shift this weekend.
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