Ruby Slippers
Now that I’m on a shopping high, I wander up to the “Salon” section of shoes.  I’ve got time and no particular goals.  I want to try the shoe so many wear everywhere.  They are designery, classy and comfy looking:  Tory Burch.  I’m a bit afraid, hate to follow all the fans so late in the game.  I kind of like a little individuality.  As I look, I see a pretty posh pair of moccasins:  Vera Wang, burgundy with sparkly ruby jewels on top.  Hmm, now those are fun and impractical.  What the heck?
My next sales girl, soon to be Girl Friend #2 for the day, is practically a teenager, and her skin is uncluttered, a blank canvas.  I can look at her without staring.  I showed her what I liked.  She brings out the selections.  I confess to her I’ve never tried on the trendy shoe and how I’m skittish about falling into a groupies thing.  She totally got me as she sells a lot of them.  “Are they comfy I ask?”  She was flat out honest with me.  “Nope.  People think they are cuz everyone wears them.”
The Plum
She divulged?  She was right; they were not comfy to me.  I have slivers for feet, per my husband with Fred Flintstone tootsies.  I tell her my narrow-footed whoas.  She comes back with two trendy-shoes fit for Cinderella, width-wise.  She showed me Italian flats that everyone in her department wears, AGL, and a pair of deep plum Prada spectator smoking slippers (two trends in one, deal!)  I’ve never tried on any of the hoity-toity shoes displayed before me.  It was decadent. 
Girlfriend 2, being a good girlfriend and maybe a good sales person, brought them out for grins and because I told her I wanted something unusual.  We both are discovering this practical-stuff-has-got-to-stop method.  Something will match the non-black shoe more than expected.  So, I was game.  Prada was made for sliver-feet.  Those shoes fit like a glove. They were funky and way off my regular shoe orbit.  Maybe GF 1, Jessica, is rubbing off on me.
I was only gong to get one pair.  So how much are Prada?  She scans the box, too fancy for a sticker price.  Or should I say, I if you have to ask, it’s out of range.  This proved to be true:  $700.  Whoa.  Ok, so now I know what $700 feels like on a foot.  It’s REALLY nice, but yeah, maybe with my next paycheck.  (I don’t get them, yet.  You do the math.)
I picked my one pair, and Vera won.  Those mocs are cool with class and VERY comfy and VERY on sale.  I was really happy.

My one Choo.

As I’m waiting to be rung up, I notice a girl with ultra cool motorcycle boots.  Hmm. Maybe I like those better than the deal I just got.  I walk up to her and tell her, “Those boots are KILLER.”  “Ah yeah.  I really love them.”  “Who makes them?”  “Jimmy Choo.”  “Oh, were they expensive?  I’m thinkin’ like less than Prada.  She replies, “$1300.”  I tried to keep my eyebrows down.  “Did you get them here?”  “No.  Bloomies.  I was drinking wine with my girlfriends.  Next thing I know I’m opening up a credit card to save 10%”.
I tell her, “Ya know, you are buying quality and you love them.  Your cost per wear is probably really nominal.”  She was so grateful for the financial justification.  Maybe I could get that for the Prada shoes I loved, make it ok.
I wave goodbye to GF 2 after I pay.  I’m glad they don’t serve wine in the Salon.
I’m nearing the end of my day and decide to grab the boring mascara I need to replace.  A hipster guy with a geek-chic look gets me my MAC Studio Fix and passed me off to GF3.  “I just LOVE this mascara,” she says as she rings.  “Oh me too!” I exclaim.  She continues, “It goes on without clumping and you can build and build and build.”  “Oh I KNOW!  It’s just the best.”  Another instant connection, what luck?  Even buying mascara is eventful here.
I leave Nordstom to find my guys and I’m thinking, wow, the girlfriends are really getting me today and they are really nice.  I’m going to shop in the City more often.
My guys had a successful day getting guy stuff like socks and sneaks.  Glad I missed the excitement.  We drove to dinner and I relayed my GF stories starting with the expensive shoe episode.  The young boys say, “Wow!  $700!  Did you buy them?”  (I love their untainted perspective.) “No!  But maybe if they are 50% off I’ll consider it.”  To which my husband offers, “That’s crazy. That’s like me buying a Maserati because it’s 50% off.  That’s stupid money.” (Yeah, well it’s only a few hundred and not a few hundred thousand!)  Guys will never understand exotic shoes any more than I can understand exotic cars.
Then I drop the big shoe bomb about the Jimmy Choos.  Jaws DROPPED.  Again, the husband, “That is so stupid.  Spend $300 on a pair of shoes and donate the rest to charity.  That’s a much better use of money.” (Prada sounds doable now.  He walked right into a snare I didn’t know I set.)
At dinner I continued with the mascara incident and struck a chord with Alex.
“Oh Mom!  You should have seen this little girl.  Her mom put so much makeup on her and she was like three!  It was like CHILD ABUSE or something.”
As we dine, Alex tells me to look to my right.  I glance over and see a girl with her back to me.  Her top has a cutout in the middle and shows all you ever wanted to see in a black lacey bra strap.  I look at Alex.  He raises his eyebrows and tilts his head towards the girl.  His expression reads, “Tacky!  Can you believe she’s wearing that in public?”  I love him.
The Lure.
Maybe Earth wasn’t as off as I thought.  Somehow I was on everyone’s wavelength and we were getting each other.  Girlfriends abounded and even my guys, except the husband, related like a girlfriend.  I hope they don’t lose that shopping bug and we can go again sometime.  

And as if my day couldn’t be any more shoe perfect, we walked back to the car and what should I see, the most impractical yet comfy shoe, a show-stopper:  A leopard-spotted stiletto made for a giant and perfect for earthling sitting. It was a lure into a shoe store.  God I love this City and this day.
Notes:
1.    I was wearing “Bonfire” Clinique Lip Gloss all day.  (Refer to “Lipgloss Changes Everything” post.)
2.    After putting my guys to sleep reading this post out loud, I have confirmed my earlier statement:  Guys will never understand exotic shoes any more than I can understand exotic cars.  They hate this post and my GFs love it.
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