It All Started Here, Jimmy Choo

Honey, Baby's got herself a brand new pair of shoes.

We ventured out to the Mall the other night in order to get M a pair of desperately needed shoes. He's generally quiet about these things, making a mention here and there: "Honey, I am really needing a new pair of shoes." I dismissed it because, it seems we *just* got them. We did, about a year ago. Still, M came home and showed me his shoes, the soles merely attached at the toe and heel, naught in between. Even worse, the leather/vinyl and begun to peel upwards. Unrepairable.

I caved.

"Fine, let's go get new shoes." Our finances are in poor condition and the thought of dropping $200 or so on dress shoes just wasn't what I wanted. Still, M never asks for much and I am a huge believer is buying comfortable shoes. (FYI-- the previous route was the cheaper route. Kenneth, your downline shoe sucks. I still like your other leathers, but this has knocked you down a couple pegs.)

M was brave enough to take both kids to the Mall on his own. I met them there from work. NJ made herself busy as usual, checking out shoes, flirting with everyone who passed by and running from her brother, who was deemed her keeper. Luckily, I had the forethought to grab a handful of Snickers bites and kept slipping them to G as he would pass by, chasing NJ of course. It made his task a little more tolerable.

M selected a pair of Ecco shoes: not too cheap, not too expensive and a HELLUVA lot better made than Ken's shoes. Everyone was looking a little tired, but I decided to wander over to the kid's shoes. We hit the sale section after perusing the merchandise. The salesgal measured NJ's feet, a "feat" in and of itself.

Salesgal: "I think I only have a couple shoes in her size, let me go look."

Me: "Okay."

I continue to peruse and NJ and G continue to chase around. Shortly, Salesgal returns.

Salesgal: "Well, I only have one pair, but they are wides. Would you still like to try them?"

Me: "I don't think she's a wide, but sure."

We caught NJ and sat her down. The Salesgal pulled out the shiny silver and pink pearlesant wonders from the box. NJ took an audiable breath.

Salesgal cooing at NJ: "Can I put these on you?" Salesgal wiggles the shoes near NJ's feet. NJ's face lights up like I have never seen. It is a look of love and awe --pure delight. NJ's mouth is a gape and full grin. The Salesgal slides the shoes effortlessly on NJ's feet. NJ can't stop staring at her feet for a minute.

"Oh #%*!." I think. There it is. Her undying love for shoes has begun.

NJ slides off the little sofa and takes off. She is flying. She is dancing. She is in love.

"Um, I guess we'll take them." I tell the Salesgal.

Do I buy the shoerack now, or wait?