Shopping My Way To Sainthood: My Husband Needed New Sneakers

 

Wow. These photographed
way better than they actually look

Rick and I went on a trek to find him a new pair of tennis shoes. If you think this sounds--for me--like A) fun; B) no big deal; C) one of those simple Guy Errands; or D) absolutely no cause for Deep Breathing or Xanax, you'd be wronger than wrong. Whereas I approach shoe shopping with Joy and Glee and a sense of Wonder, hoping to be Surprised and Delighted, my husband has a different expectation. 

As in, he expects to walk into any shoe store and see THE EXACT SAME SHOE HE HAS BEEN WEARING FOR ONE HUNDRED YEARS sitting there, waiting for him. In his size. So that he can merely stride purposefully over to it, procure it, and take it to the cashier, where he will pay pretty much what he paid for it the first time he bought it. 

The. End.

I have no idea where this Fantasy originated. This has never, ever been his experience that I know of. As a matter of fact, I have accompanied him on his shoe shopping quests since before we were married, lo these past 45 years. His shoe shopping habits are so frustrating for the both of us that I often buy him shoes for gift-giving occasions.

Rick's requirements for The Perfect Tennis Shoe are:  absolutely all white; no ostentatious logo; no cloth; if there are ventilation holes, they must not be too numerous; the sole cannot be too clunky or chunky; no Nikes (they do not accommodate his very high arch); he prefers K-Swiss, but they no longer make the ones he used to wear; no high-tops.

The last time I bought him The Perfect K-Swiss Shoes, I bought two pairs. It was, I must say, A Genius Move. Except for the fact that he got far too attached, obviously, and now here we are. 

We went to four stores. I did not look at a single pair for myself (it must be said). I was Gentle, Kind, Patient, and Helpful. I did not roll my eyes one single time, even when he couldn't see me. I did not make any menacing movements behind his back or stick my tongue out at him when his head was turned. I didn't even show him really ugly shoes while pretending I thought they were nice. I was, in a word, Perfect.

Here are the shoes Rick finally chose. There was a lot of concern about that flashy air cushion thingy that's visible mid-sole. It is not optimal, and was--briefly--a sticking point. I sort of wandered away and let him decide while I did some deep breathing and thought about Theo being a cow for Halloween.

You can order this shoe here rather than wander all over two counties.

Only when I saw him give the cashier his credit card did I walk up to the counter and witness the end of our quest. "Yay!" I said, smiling and cheery. "That's accomplished! How do you feel about it?" 

"I'm just glad that's done and off my list," he said. 

The Big Question now is when will he wear them? There is always a Transitional Phase wherein the new shoes are slowly phased in, worn only for certain things, and the old shoes continue to be the main shoes. Eventually, the new shoes are pressed into more service, and the old shoes are relegated to lawn mowing, basement work, or get taken to the lake for jobs around there. This could take months (and all of my Patience). It reminds me of this story about his wallet.

My sons are more like me when it comes to shoes. Sam is a sneakerhead; his collection of sneakers is vast and eclectic. Jared loves shoes, the more unusual the better; the shoes he chose for his wedding were fantastic (so were Sam's). I want very much to believe that this sort of thing is not exclusive to my husband. Tell me in Comments if any of the Men In Your Life have a Shopping/Fashion Quirk. Failing that, you can pat me on the back for my Patience.