Recently, I purchased a very expensive yet gorgeous pair of leopard boots. They had four inch platform heels and they folded deliciously over the knee. They were incredibly sexy. I loved them but oddly I couldn't bear to wear them. I was indecisive every time that I tried them on, considering how to pair them with tasteful business wear. I left them folded gently in their gleaming purple box. Truth be told, they were a smidge over the top to wear to work (in translation: too hoochie to wear to work--over the knee boots worn to work either means hooker or pirate) and I couldn't imagine putting them on to wear on a weekend on the street. It struck me that I had spent nearly $600 on a pair of boots that would simply reside in my close till the end of time.
Fortunately, I bought them from a Stuart Weitzman boutique so I knew I could return them. I gently packed them up today in their gleaming purple box and with reciept in hand, I returned to the small Upper West Side shop. The sales staff was gracious with the return. Then the saleswoman, a pert brunette named Tanya, undermined me yet again...with the best possible customer service. She asked why the boots didn't work. She asked what colors I wore. She really bore down, getting to my clothing pain point. I admired the salesmanship and gave in to the pain.
She brought out several samples of what I might like. She nailed it. I found a black suede boot that hugged my calves like cashmere. And then she brought out a red pair of boots with the knee length I wanted and with the gorgeous soft calf embrace I desired. They were sexy but still work practical. I was in love. I surrendered my American Express card.
$1,200 later, I felt half horrified. Did I pay this much for shoes? Why yes. I did. And now I had to tell Fang.
I wandered into our apartment laden down with purple shopping bags. I had no clue what to say to my spouse of 17 years. I'm a fan of honesty so I put it out there--and to my surprise he said, "If you're happy, I'm happy." I surely don't deserve this. But I am loving my red boots. Very, very much.
2 comments:
Sorry, red boots just make me think of the Christmas that my sister got a pair of red boots, and she went crying off to her room "I don't want red boots... I wanted black boots!" Note that she was in her early 20s at the time. (Hey, it's not a holiday if someone isn't crying, right?)
That's for sure, Joe. Why is that?
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