Old Lady Feet

I crossed a new threshold this week. Literally and metaphorically.

The literal threshold was very pleasant. I walked into the New Balance store, where I'd never shopped before, and I must say I've never had such a patient, helpful, and knowledgeable shoe clerk. [Disclaimer: Neither I nor any of my family members are employed by New Balance. Tho' given the oil spill , the gutting of the Louisiana fishing, shrimping, oyster cultivating, and tourist industries, and the resulting sharp decline in state revenues, I soon may be exploring a new career in shoe retail.]

The crossing of the metaphoric threshold was decidedly less enjoyable. I've entered the world of Old Lady Feet. The onset of bone spurs and arthritis in my left foot* means none of my shoes--not the fab boots I splurged on this winter, not my stand-by sexy sandals, not even my funky Clarke clogs or cutey pink striped slip-on Keds--are comfortable. So now, thanks to New Balance, I have three pairs of very sturdy shoes that will keep my feet at the proper angle and reduce the physical discomfort. Or at least that's what's supposed to happen. I'll tell you what's guaranteed to happen: a massive increase in social discomfort. These are some amazingly ugly shoes. Hugh is mortified--I doubt he'll ever let himself be seen with me again--and even Keith could only bring himself to say, "Well, they're not that bad." And then, to pile corns on top of calluses, as it were, keeping Old Lady Feet comfy turns out to be an expensive business. This trio of what Hugh calls "Grandma shoes" cost $500. Eek! I've never spent that kind of money on shoes.

So, I guess I should dwell on the positive. I've now crossed the threshold into the world of Expensive Shoe Consumption--the world, in fact, of Sex and the City. Voila! I'm Carrie Bradshaw sauntering along in ridiculously pricey shoes. OK. OK. Clunking. Clunking along in ridiculously pricey shoes. But at least I'm still clunking.





*See "I Have Seen the Future" (April); "Life after 50" (May)