The Holy Grail of Shoes

I have been on a mission for a few weeks now, and it was one that I didn’t realize would develop into full all out mission status when I decided to do it. I was on the lookout for brown dress shoes for our boys. And, what I thought would be as simple as, “Hey, let’s run to Target and pick up some brown shoes” became “Do you think that maybe those brown bowling shoe look alikes would be appropriate for the kids in front of everyone at Mass?”

So, a few weeks ago, knowing that Easter was coming up, I began to seek out these brown shoes. Simple brown shoes. Brown shoes that were the right size and nice looking — those were my lofty requirements.

We set out to Target one night, and since I didn’t know this was going to end up being a mission, I did find appropriate sized brown shoes for both of the boys. They had only one style, and I believe the name of the style was “ugly as sin.” I tried to overlook this fact, but finally said, “You know what, let’s look at Walmart.” I said this in a matter-of-fact way, a way in which I thought, “Of course there will be a plethora of brown shoes at Walmart from which to choose.” In fact, it turns out, I was sadly mistaken.

I went to Walmart with my Mom and Molly and specific shoe sizes in mind. I looked and looked. No brown shoes. Certainly I was just looking in the wrong area. I asked a woman in the shoe department for brown dress shoes for boys. She gave me a half smile and a small head nodding no that you imagine doctors give to someone when they have to deliver unfortunate news. She showed me to a small area with one style of brown dress shoes. They were, in fact, not ugly as sin, so I was pleased. Well…until I tried to find either of their sizes. No luck.

So, that night, I loaded up all three kids in the van after Eric mowed the lawn and told Eric to just have some time to relax and the kids and I would go to another Walmart where I would certainly find these same shoes, but with the right size.

Our trip to Walmart (30 minutes away) seemed fruitless. I found the shoes, but, still no correct size. Though, it would seem, if I had wanted black shoes for them, I could have had them in any style, shape, and size. I could have outfitted my children if they had been born as centipedes with a black dress shoe on every single foot. Finally, I moved a sign, and there they were — a pair for Noah! Still…we left with no brown shoes for Jack. (Which, I have to admit, I was shocked didn’t leave him a sobbing mess. But, true to form, something else left him as a sobbing mess on the way home anyway.)

Finally, yesterday, I took a trip to the mall during the day with my Mom and Molly. While they looked at Macy’s, I made the long trek down to Payless Shoes. On the way, I saw a “Rackroom Shoes” and popped in — it was MUCH closer to Macy’s. I asked about where to find boys shoes. They asked a size, and I told them and said I was looking for brown dress shoes. They looked at me like I was asking for the shoes for the feet that had to be obviously growing right out of my head at that point. They assured me that they definitely didn’t have any, but did I want to look at some brown sandals. I politely thanked them for their help and left. (Mind you, then they were looking at me like I was some kind of freak for just leaving without looking after the specifically told me that they didn’t have what I needed. I’ll just let that one go for now, I guess.)

I got to Payless Shoes, and again got a sad look from the sales lady. But, then she did lead me to a small selection (a lace up dress shoe and then two toned bowling shoe look alikes that were actually tennis shoes). Okay, so the dress shoe wasn’t as cute as I would have liked with its box-like toe and chunky look, but darn it — brown dress shoes apparently aren’t something to be picky about. You find them, and you buy them — and you feel blessed for the chunky, boxy things.

And, finally — my mission was complete. Oh, except, of course, for the fact that Jack put them on today and they are about half a size too big. As far as I’m concerned at this point, that’s what tissue was invented for — it will do its duty in that boxy front of his shoes, and there will be no complaining allowed.

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