Feet first

 

In her 85 years, my mother has told a lot of stories, none more than those from our family's past. I never tire of hearing them, even as some differ in the little details with each telling. But since my mom will talk to anyone, some of those enthusiastic anecdotes fall on deaf ears -- with a bang. 

Such was the case at Macy's recently, when my sister took mom shoe shopping. Only helping her buy bras can compare to the torture of helping her find a good fit in shoes. A Macy's shoe department for women can already be overwhelming, lots of customers bobbing up and down on one shod foot or trying to wrap their feet with those flimsy "peds" without their toes digging a hole in the top. Salespeople working on commission dash in and out of the stock room like frantic stockbrokers on the floor of the New York Stock Exchange. 

Put my mom into that frantic setting and she will still manage to stand out. Ever since breaking her right ankle a couple of years ago, that affected foot has had to be stuffed into a shoe. She doesn't bother trying the left. On her latest footwear search, she sent the young man working at Macy's on a hunt for the same comfortable sneakers she was already wearing, despite the fact Skechers stopped making that particular model. 

The generational divide was apparent when my mother told one of those familiar stories. My maternal grandmother had -- let's just say it --  the kind of ungainly feet you get from working on a farm as a child. So the story goes that she went shopping for shoes and the salesman was attempting to push her feet into a pair of dressy models when he announced, "You don't need shoes, you need galoshes." (It's one reason my grandmother eventually wore only her Oxfords wherever she went.)

Aside from the fact that the young salesman likely had no idea what galoshes are -- rubber boots that keep your feet dry in the rain -- mom also asked for a shoe horn. The guy looked verklempt, then eventually found one large enough to rake leaves with. 

Despite his earnest efforts, there would be no sale. Yet I like to think my mother's anecdote may have lingered enough for him to search Google for galoshes.

Fitting no?

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