Shoe shopping

I’ve ventured into the shoe store. A bit over whelming but I know what I’m looking for so I head straight to the flats. Walking… Walking… Looking… And I pass them… The Jesus Christ 5’s, the Moses “let my people go” 11’s, the calf high gladiator sandals. 


“There’s no way anyone would actually get those.” I say out loud as I walk past. I was wrong. I continue my shopping trip with the “thotiator” sandals far in the back of my mind. And then… HER! Apparently it’s never too early for ratchetness. SHE walks in, on her phone, talking loudly. Just ignore her, I tell myself. She stops… “OOOOOOH girl I just found some bomb ass sandals!” She’s not talking about… She can’t be talking about… Noooo, not the thotiators! Yes, the thotiators. She proceeds to find a box and sit down to squeeze her cankles into these sandals. They fit… Sort of. It’s kind of like, well, you know when you make s’mores and the marshmallow is all warm and gooey and it oozes out of the sides of the graham crackers when you squeeze them together? That, but in a tall sandal. I want to tell her “NO! Don’t do it! You can do so much better!” But I don’t. I just watch her put the sandal back in the box and proceed to continue shopping, still on the phone.  I do the same, all the while hoping she changes her mind. She doesn’t. We both get in line and I just stare at the box silently. I wanted to say something, I really did. However, she was bigger than I am and looked like she could fight. I can’t. The safety of her cankles just isn’t worth me getting my ass kicked. 

I wonder if I will see her, her cankles, and the thotiator sandals this summer? 

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