I went to DSW for no good reason. I don’t really need shoes, and I’m not the type of gal to collect them. But I was out of work early and had time to kill before I picked up my daughter from daycare, so I found myself pulling off of the highway and walking into the shoe store.
I took my time. I looked at sandals and thought of summer. I looked at the clearance rack and thought about winter.
I pretended that I was actually going to buy something. But even if I was going to make a purchase, there was nothing that I really needed. What I needed, I thought to myself, was a Melissa & Doug wooden food set and a Little Tikes water table.
And then I saw them.
They were fantastically green, totally impractical and shiny.
Something about these shoes tugged at me. Something about them made me sad. All at once they reminded me of spring break and dancing and getting ready to go out with my girlfriends.
Now as a woman approaching 30 with a toddler, I only wear heels to work and weddings. So who are these shoes for?
Someone without children. Someone with a disposable income. Someone who goes out at night. Someone who buys a pair of shoes just to match one outfit. Someone who isn’t me.
And then she showed up. A ponytailed teenager with her put-together mom and tag along sister. “That’s them.” She told her entourage. The group agreed that the green would totally make her prom dress pop, and they took them to the register.
The magnificent green shoes were for someone whose mom was going to buy them for her—not for someone who is a mom and buys shoes for someone else.