A Random Shoe Story

I think it’s safe to say Spring is here – as evidenced by the copious amounts of mucus currently congealing in the back of my throat.  It seems like Mother Nature is finally going to let me wear a pair of cute shoes as opposed to the galoshes and snow boots I’ve worn exclusively for the past four months.  Party on my feet!

So last week I set about rummaging through the bins of off-season clothes I have shoved under my bed and dug out a summery pair of slip on sneakers.  I bought them a little over a year ago – while my poor little head was just starting to grow stubble and housed a brain dumber than a cast member of the Jersey Shore.  While all the chemo drugs had worked their way out of my bod, I was still struggling a little with standing faints and fumbly fingers, so slip on sneaks were perfect!

I remember being thrilled to find such a cute pair of Merrells in my size at a discount store.  Despite being 5’10”, I wear a size 8.5 or 9 shoe.  I have short, fat feet.  If my body was the cast of Chelsea Lately, my feet would be played by Chuy.  I think that’s why I fall over so often.  Tall things should have a wide base.  The end.

Anyway, I bought the shoes.  Of course I did.  I LOVE Merrells.  I’m embarrassed to admit what percentage of my shoe collection is squishy, comfy, decidedly non-sex-kitten-esque Merrells.  Yet despite my new sneaks being perfect on paper, I didn’t wear them very much.  They weren’t very comfortable for some reason.  They pinched and never felt quite right.

Having not worn them in six months, I forgot they weren’t my favorites.  I shoved them onto my feet and shuffled out the door to meet Gwen at the very same discount shoe store.  Shifting from uncomfortable foot to uncomfortable foot, I strolled the aisles looking for shoes that might work with Gwen’s wedding dress.

Since I can only maintain the illusion of selflessness for about fifteen minutes, it wasn’t long before I was scanning the sizes on the stack of boxes beneath a display of Merrell sandals.  My brain, addled by allergies and blinking fluorescent lights couldn’t pluck the right shoe size from it’s memory bank.  What size do I usually wear in Merrells?  Why would I forget such a thing.  Oh hey, dumbass…take off the shoe you’re wearing and look.  Why didn’t I think of that?  Oh wait, technically I did.

So I bent my knee behind me, reached around, pulled off the shoe, and stuck my poor unsuspecting nose far too close to the now moist inner lining as I peered at the size – “7.5.”  Seven and a half? I lowered the shoe from my face and took a deep breath as my brain slowly churned.  Wait, maybe that’s the UK size. I held my breath and stuck my face back into the shoe.  “UK – 5.”  Well that explains a LOT. Then the lights started to dim as the toxic foot fumes replaced all the oxygen in my lungs.

Let this be a lesson to you – do not shop under the influence of chemo.  In other news, I now have an excuse to buy a new pair of shoes.  I think I’ll wait until the brain has recovered from allergy season, however.

Speaking of shoving things where they shouldn’t go – for this week’s Craftastrophe post, I found an artist dedicated to creating ceramic uteri filled with…well…quite a variety of things.  It’s time to start thinking about Mother’s Day gifts, after all.

I was about to close this out with “stick a fork in me – I’m done,” but that just seems extra inappropriate after perusing all those clay wombs.  I’m going to stop talking now.  Probably.


  1. wow! uterus ceramics. that’s what my eclectic decor has been missing all of this time. love me some abstract work with fem humor. ; )

    also, since i’ve only recently discovered your blog, i didn’t realize you were on chemo in the past. i hope that is behind you and you are feeling fantastic these days. with a spring in your merrells steps!
    .-= pattypunker´s last blog ..happy easter a la patty punker =-.

  2. Okay, can we just quickly establish my nose is now burning from KYA’s comment!!

    Now, I am all about some uteri(sp), ummm, usually. ’nuff said.

    *sang in the tune of Smelly Cat, Phoebe Buffet, Friends* Squishy brain, Squishy brain, how I hated squishy brain, squishy brain, squishy brain, once it made me pee in a drain *takes a bow*

    Yes, yes, I am as talented as Phoebe, and I remember the Squishy Brain syndrome all too well. *smoochies*
    .-= Wicked Shawn´s last blog ..You Have No Idea =-.

  3. Can I just tell you how much I like the idea that you are 5’10? We are going to fucking kill people at BlogHer.
    Second, Craftastrophe is quickly becoming the place to go when I need some extra taint on my soul. And NO that is not the kind of taint I’m talking about.
    .-= Kelly´s last blog ..I Like My Fear Like I Like My Men. Burning HOT. =-.

    1. May be my favorite comment of all time. I do so LOVE it when you say dirty things.

      I’m going to wear heels, just for you. But I’m totally kicking them off for our jello wrestling match against Amanda and Ry Sal. I think SubWow should referee.

    1. Just so long as you haven’t actually “had” Chelsea. She’s funny and all but I’m pretty sure she’s got some seriously resistant strains of STD’s.

  4. I am here via Marymac. I love her. She loves you. You have to be awesome.

    I have never heard of Merrells. I love shoes. Maybe I should look into them. Especially right now with my broken toe, courtesy of my lovely {NEW} fiance. But I am guessing that you should DEFINITELY get a shoe in a bigger size. 🙂

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