I was talking to someone about this blog the other day, telling them that I classify it as one of the more self-centered things I’ve done. I mean, when you get down to it, I’m pretty much just writing about me and hoping you all are entertained. Their response was  “Not certain if a blog is self-centered if you have something to say and someone cares to listen.  The problem I have with most blogs is the person telling the tale doesn’t have much of a tale to tell.  In other words, telling the world about your problems with finding the right pair of jeans can be utterly hilarious, painful, and self-relating or it can simply be the most boring discussion of going to the mall.”

At the time I agreed with the sentiment and hoped that my blog fell into the former category and not the boring mall discussion wasteland. I was also skeptical about the exactly how interesting a jeans blog could be. Well, you know what they say about being a smart ass and pride coming before the fall (that’s how that phrase goes, right? Well, that’s how it goes in my life at least). Because, ladies and gentleman, this is my jeans post (but, you know, with shoes).

Just to set the stage for any strangers that may be reading out there – I’m not a girly girl. I mean, I groom, and I can pull myself together, and I’m pretty good at not mixing my patterns, but I’ve never been what I would consider “fashionable.” Nowhere near it. So, when I went to Woodbridge to spend time with a friend on Saturday and ended up spending almost $20 on nail polish, it was truly out of character (the nail polish did turn out pretty awesome though – good lord what’s happening to me). At this point, I’ve spent all I plan to spend and I’m just tagging along to the outlet mall for the heck of it. I mean, I’ve already bought sparkly nail polish, what more could I need in my life?

Then, I found these:

Pretty Shoes - Pretty Cheap Shoes

I will admit that I’m a shoe person, but usually a more sensible shoe person. I’ll admire a cute pair, but then reason that I wouldn’t wear them, but I was instantly in love with these. I tried them on, and they were a little big. Next I checked the price. $65, but discounted down to $20. I wanted them! So bad! But I had just spent $20 on nail polish. $20. On nail polish. There was only so much I could justify. So, I left the store, but not before taking a picture. What happend next was reverse buyers remorse followed by a complicated plan that reached across state lines and may or may not make me a candidate for least considerate daughter of the year.

When I got home, I posted the picture of the shoes to my Facebook page saying that I wish I had some place to wear them to justify buying them. What followed was a torrent of “Where wouldn’t you wear them” and “Why didn’t you buy them?!?” I had no answer to the second question other than to point back to the frivolous nail polish purchase.

Then came a message from my friend J wanting to know what store these shoes lived at because just so happened she’d be at the mall in Woodbridge the next day. My initial reaction was a fight to the death! No! Those were my shoes! Of course, this was irrational. She wore a different size. So, after calming myself down, I told her which store and subtly asked (and by subtly asked I mean outright begged) if she could maaaybe pick up what I was now secretly referring to as “my shoes.” Sure! No problem! Plan made!

I call first thing the next morning to put them on hold, but the sales person tells me they don’t have that pair in the store anymore. Of course, a normal person would have let it go at that point, but this had become less about the shoes and more about the mission! I  realized that there was an outlet mall in Texas near my mom’s work. So I call that store, and yes! they have a pair in my size! And like that, this operation has crossed state lines, taken on epic proportions and is one step away from acquiring a poorly thought out government code name.

Now, this is the part that doesn’t reflect well on me (ok, so this whole story does not necessarily make me seem like the most stable person in the world, but c’mon, the name of the blog is “Out of Proportion”). Once I’ve secured the shoes at the Texas location, I call my mom and the conversation goes something like this:

“Hi, Mom, I know you’re having major surgery on Tuesday, but are you going to work on Monday?”
“Yeah, just for a meeting in the morning, why?”
“Um, can you go by the mall and buy me a pair of shoes and send them to me? I’ll pay you back.”

To be fair, I kind of knew it was a bad idea after dialing mom’s number, around the second ring, but I’d already committed. After more recon, I find out that J can order the shoes from the Woodbridge store here in Virginia and have them shipped to me from Texas, so I drop my mom down to standby shoe procurement duty (again, not proud of it).

Shoes are on hold in Texas, I have an away team dispatched to Woodbridge to bring them home where they belong, no problem! Except, when J arrives at the mall in Woodbridge, the store clerk tells her that they can’t find the shoes anywhere in the system. Even though they are sitting on a counter in a mall in Grapevine, TX with my name literally on them there is nothing they can do. (Just as an aside, I’ve never shopped at a store so averse to taking my money as this store was).  After going back and forth with the sales staff, J does what any sane person would do, and leaves. At this point, I would have been ever so grateful for the effort, bought her a drink and apologized for wasting her time. However, as she’s heading back to her car, the sales clerk from the store chases her out of the mall to tell her they have found the shoes in Woodbridge store – the exact one she was just standing in. Now, this is either a testament to how bad that little guy wanted to make a sale or to J’s perseverance/ferocity. I’m going to go with a little from column a and a little from column b. Again, at this point, J’s in the parking lot, I would not have blamed her if she just got in her car and drove away from this crazy shoe fiasco once and for all, but instead, she goes back inside and gets my shoes (with an additional 20% off for pain and suffering).

So, now the shoes are mine! J gave them to me as a birthday present, and I have to say that they’re the best present ever. Pretty much because of the story that goes along with them now. These shoes are officially priceless to me. Hmmm….maybe I should call and see how my mom’s surgery went. (What?! I’m kidding, she’s fine!)