Little pink shoe, little pink shoe

Yesterday, Ben and I drove up to Austin to see my parents. Ben wanted to go shooting and play cars and I had another mission in mind: shoes.

I hate shoes. I hate shopping for shoes. Once I find a shoe that is acceptable, I usually adore it, serenade it and wear it until the sole splits and threads spew out the sides. Over Christmas, Mom bought me three adorable pair of shoes. Two for work, one for dancing/ going out. I was delighted.

I was not so delighted to realize that my beloved tennis shoes were on their last leg. I had ignored their holes, their shredded sides, the grungy laces. After a few blisters and calluses, I realized it was time to give up the fight. I needed to buy new running shoes.

Armed with a credit card and a scowl, I marched into Academy with Mom. I picked a new sports bra, new sweat pants for Ben and took a deep breath. With all the bravery I could muster, I stormed into the shoe department. Chaos and small children screeching made me wince, but I forged on. I selected four different running shoes (all pink, of course) and found a bench on the fray of the chaos. Mom opened boxes and pulled batches of paper out so I could try on the shoes faster.

With each pair of shoes, I had a certain inspection process. I would walk, bounce and run spasticially up and down the aisles. After two pairs, a strange woman plopped down on the bench a few feet from me. Growling, I hurried through the third pair. On the fourth pair, another woman and her redneck spawn stole my seat. Fuming, I grabbed the two pairs in the yes pile and dragged mom to a bench on the opposite side of the shoe section.

"Stupid children," I muttered as I jerked one of each pair on my feet for the final test. "Stupid redneck women. Stealing my seat. How tacky is that?"

Mom looked at socks, smartly ignoring my ranting. I hemmed and hawed over the two shoes, finally selecting a pair of pale pink, silver and white Nikes. They were so cute!

Hugging my shoes to my chest, I headed with Mom to the movie theatre where we saw Enchanted.

I was delighted. As my 7 things said, I hate movies with sad endings. This movie was charming! It had all the requirements of a Blonde Duck movie: a princess; pretty dresses; charming romantic lead; humor; several dance scenes and a nice kiss at the end. Classy, romantic, funny! I was thrilled! I was charmed! I wanted to wear a pretty dress and go to a ball in my new pink shoes. I twirled my way home and demanding Ben treat me like the princess my pink shoes proclaimed me to be. He too, ignored me wisely.

This morning, still on a Enchanted high (I discovered the music videos on YouTube and have been playing them non stop. Don't judge me.), I hit the gym in gear fit for a princess. I was wearing a pink Eskimo Joe shirt, shorts, purple socks and my new pink shoes. As I ran on the treadmill, feeling like I was flying on air, I hummed to myself:

"Little pink shoes, little pink shoes. Little pink shoes, little pink shoes."