Winter boots

I was shopping for winter boots again. I went into Sears because I have a Sears’ card. Their boots were terrible. They looked like they were boots from the Sears’ catalogue forty years ago. Every time I go in the Sears’ store with my Sears’ card I get the impression Sears’ targeted demographic is elderly ladies nostalgic for the days of catalogue shopping.

Then I went into a regular shoe store and asked to try on some boots in size eleven. The lady helping me was very nice I thought. She had at least four different shoe shoppers asking her to bring them shoes. She wasn’t even grouchy about it. She doubted she had an eleven. Sometimes I fit a ten, depending on the make, so I asked her to see if there was a ten. When she came back from looking she was very sorry the biggest size they had was a nine.

I saw other shoe buyers entering the store. With their big winter coats and slow shuffling manner due to the small amount of space in the shoe store made smaller by the large amount of shoe shoppers not to mention the aforementioned cumbersome coats worn by all, they reminded me of moles or at least some dim-sighted winter rodent working its way to its borough. Looking at them I could tell they were all going to be fine. Their inner animal compasses had led them true; they would all be able to fit into size nine or less.