Tuesday, July 12, 2011
Third floor, children's shoes - both a wondrous and disconcerting place. Look! Mini shell-toes! Look! all the girls' shoes are spangled, shimmery, pink.
You have big feet, I fear, and that's my fault. The woman came to measure your feet and you must have worried this was some sort of doctor's office because the tears sprang immediately from your eyes. The sales woman ran off to get a balloon and came back with a pink one - of course - which held your interest until she insisted on touching the small plastic measuring plate to your foot again. More tears, but she had your number and scurried back to get some shoes to try.
In the meantime, a little girl of 4 or 6 who might have had some developmental delays came over to us from her spot at the coloring table, intent on capturing your balloon as her prize. Her red harness strap dragged along the carpet behind her, wrapping around her foot once or twice as she stopped to ponder a baby TOMS.
She reached your balloon and your mood darkened again. "Emily, no!" her mother said sternly, fatigue slipping between the syllables. You held your balloon.
Emily then though you would like to color and grabbed your wrist in both hands and started to pull. You pulled back and looked to me with mostly anger written on your face, upset rising again in your lungs. Her mother intervened and you were saved.
Trying on shoes was much less daunting than sizing. You sat in my lap while the sales woman and I urged you to uncurl your toes. A size 6. There were pink glitter converse and some nice See Kai Run mary janes (also pink - the palest tone no playground would let survive). In the end, I opted for some $40 Stride Rite shoes with an acceptable level of glitter in a non-offensive silver and gray. With hints of pink. You tap danced in them immediately and wore them home, just as I wore home every new shoe purchase I can recall as a child. You danced in them some more in the kitchen for daddy, enjoying the new sounds your new shoes make.