Today I found my sole mate (not a typo or a stupid spelling error, although I am above neither.)Â At the writer’s space where I try to write instead of going on Facebook and blogging here, Jessica, a woman who I’d spoken to a few times, complimented my sandals (which are fabulous, and that’s not bragging because it’s not like I designed them or anything. They’re more electric pink than they appear here.)
I told her where I got them (Dolce Vita) and how much they cost (a hefty but not outrageous amount), and gave her permission–not that she needed it–to go out and get the exact same pair. Showing up at the writer’s room where we work in the same shoes is hardly a gigantic Oscar red carpet faux-pas. Jessica shook her head and bemoaned her size 11 or so feet and said she was sure they’d never fit.
I told her I, too, am now an 11, and that while these are a ten, Dolce Vita size tens fit me. She was doubtful but after seeing my currently hot hot pink feet walk back and forth a few times over the course of the day, she broke down and took me up on my offer to try them on. “Give me the left foot first–that’s my bigger foot.” I told her my right foot was bigger as I handed her the sandal.
It was one of those moments out of a Disney movie where everything falls away and it’s just the two of you: birds chirp, violin music plays and all the world seems a glorious place. Jessica had the same thought I did: “We could go…” “Shoe shopping together?” I finished her sentence. She slipped on the sandal. It fit, although the right foot was a bit big.
See, both of us have shot up a size (it’s a hormonal thing–Formerlies, especially those who have had biological babies, know all about it. That same chemical that is supposed to make the birth canal stretch when it needs to also makes the ligaments in your feet spread. And then there’s stomping around on them for decades that makes them bigger. Nice, right?).
But she and I have the opposite too-large feet. If we buy two pairs in a ten and an 11 and swap one, we’ll both have a perfect fit, rather than having to put insoles into the too-big shoe so it doesn’t flop off, or suffer with one that’s just a wee bit small. Yin and yang. Jessica might be The One. Oh, joy!
Sure, it might not work out. We might have vastly different tastes in footwear (although I don’t think so). And there are some logistics involved, not to mention how to divvy up rewards points at DSW. But it couldn’t be harder than marriage, right?