I stare at the wall for a minute. These might be my first pair of running shoes, but I have bought shoes before. Typically, I pick out what I like and hand it to the sales associate, asking them for the size and color I want.
That’s not how it’s done here, though I do have my eye on a pair of gorgeous pink and yellow ones in the middle of the wall.
Twilight Zone, I remind myself as I follow her directions.
The next several minutes are spent with her making me do a series of tricks. Walk back and forth across the room. Hop on one foot. Hop on the other foot. I even get to stand on some machine that’s supposed to measure my foot shape and volume.
Honestly, I’d be sure they were fucking with me if I wasn’t watching another customer do the same thing on the other side of the room.
“Great, I think I have a couple of pairs that might be good for you.” I take a glance back toward the pair I was eyeing,sending up a silent prayer that they’ll be one of them. A lot of the shoes are ugly. Weirdly shaped and massive. Not to mention the terrible color schemes on some of them. When she brings back three boxes, I’m disappointed to see my pair isn’t among them. Worse, all the pairs she has are ugly colors. Nothing bright and colorful. All blacks and blues and grays. The bright colors were the one thing that I was looking forward to.
She thrusts a pair into my hands. “These are really popular right now among our staff.”
They’re huge; the sole of the shoe coming up might be higher than anything I’ve ever owned. Practically wedges. They’re also primary blue, bright, and ugly. “Do they come in other colors?” I ask before we get too far into this process.
“Don’t worry about color right now. Focus on the fit and feel.” The sales associate thrusts them into my hand. I look up at Aaron, but he nods his head.
Fine. I look longingly at the pair on the wall, but do as I’m told, putting them on and walking back and forth a few times.
“How do they feel?” Aaron asks.
“Like shoes.” I don’t know what people are looking for here. They’re sneakers. They feel like sneakers.
The saleswoman pokes at my foot a few times. “I think you could go up a half size.”
“No, they feel fine.”
“Your foot will swell when you run, so we want to give you a little extra room.”
People do this for fun? Seriously? I’m supposed to run, outside, in ugly shoes, while my feet swell? That sounds like corporal punishment, not something someone would do for enjoyment. Aaron nods at me again, a small smile stretching across his face.
“Angie’s right. You need a little more space than in your usual shoes. Otherwise, you’ll wind up bruising your toe and potentially lose the nail.”
Angie—I guess that’s her name—winks at Aaron. My Aaron.
Okay, so he’s not mine, but he’s not hers either.
I swallow all my feelings and agree with them. A half size bigger would be fan-fucking-tastic.
This process repeats with the other two pairs of equally ugly sneakers. Honestly, they all feel the same to me. Like shoes. Snug, supportive shoes.
When they finish, Aaron and the salesperson stare at me with big eyes. “So which ones?”
There’s clearly a correct answer to this question, but I have no idea what it is. I’m so far out of my depth that I’ve entered a different reality. “Uh, these?” I hold up a black pair of shoes, the least offensive of the bunch. It must be the correct answer, because they both grin at me. “Is this the only color?” At least the black won’t clash, but I’m still eyeing the neon ones on the shelves. If I have to drag my ass out of the house and around the block, I should at least get to feel bright and sunny.
“I can check in the back, but for your size, I think we probably only have the black. They do come in taupe as well.”
That sounds significantly worse. “The black is fine.” So much for my sunshine.
A few minutes later, and a much bigger bill than I expected, Aaron’s decided I’m ready. Not only because of the shoes, but also because of the weird little fanny pack and the world’s tiniest water bottle that I can apparently hold without holding while running.Joy.
“See, that wasn’t so bad,” Aaron says as we walk back to his car.
“Right,” I say, the sarcasm sneaking through. “Did you pick a crochet pattern?” If I’m running in these things, he’s going tofight the yarn gremlins, which I insist are a real thing. At least he’ll get to pick the colors he wants.
AARON
I’ve been in many a craft store over the years. While I typically prefer hardware stores, there are specialty items that can only be found here. I don’t think I’ve ever walked all the way back to the yarn section. I’m usually in and out as fast as possible, asking the nearest salesperson to direct me to the correct aisles for efficiency.
