Shoe shopping fun with my son

He needs shoes soon

Is there anything more painful and useless than trying to talk a teenage boy into going shopping with you? Unless, of course, it is to pick up the newest, greatest game on release day.

I gave up a long time ago. He describes what he wants, and I go get it. He isn’t very picky so he never complains about my choices. However, he is a big boy at six feet tall, and shoe shopping requires you actually try on the shoe.

Last year…

I’m dreading the shoe shopping ordeal thanks to last year’s experience.

I announced we were taking a quick trip to the store to get shoes. I tried to sell my idea by claiming we could be back within an hour and would even splurge for a refreshing smoothie.

In a desperate attempt to avoid accompanying me on this venture, he came up with a solution.

Leaning in his doorway, keys in hand, I asked if he was ready to go. “Yep,” he replied while handing me a tracing of his foot. “Get the same thing I have now in white.”

Not in the mood to argue, I painstakingly cut out the foot. This is my artistically-challenged child, so the tracing was a bit off. The shape resembled a potato, so I created toes to make it more realistic-looking.

The paper foot and I headed to the store. This trip had all the excitement of shopping with a cardboard cut-out of my child. The conversation in the car was lacking, but there were no complaints about the music playing.

Trying on shoes

Browsing through the shoe department I was approached by an athletic, young salesman who asked what I was looking for. “My son needs new shoes,” I replied. He grabbed the measuring tool and looked around, assuming my son was wandering around the department somewhere.

I removed the foot from my purse, unfolded it, and lay it on the measuring device. “Do you think that is a size 12 or 12.5? He’s definitely a wide.”

“I want to try on a size 12.5 in this shoe,” I said as I held up the sneaker I had selected.

He looked shocked and confused as he politely advised, “Ma’am, that isn’t going to work.”

“Just let me see if I can fit the foot in it. Humor me.”

He returned with a box of shoes and a strange, amused look on his face. I imagine this was going to make for some great conversation in the break room later.

I proceeded with trying to fit the paper foot in the shoe. As shocking as this may seem, it didn’t work very well. I couldn’t tell if the toes were crumpled at the end. Since the foot couldn’t argue that it didn’t like the blue stripe, I bought them and hoped for the best.

This year

I’m not accepting paper feet in place of a live person again. This year he is going with me, we’re going to have a lovely experience, and he will enjoy it whether he wants to or not.

That is…unless he bribes the girls into molding his foot to make a paper mache version.

I don’t care if it is a masterpiece that is painted and glitter-covered. I refuse to take that to the store!