One for the Chicks

No, this is not about sports or dirty sex. Is that all you women think about? Sports and sex? No, this is even more dear to your cute little sensitive hearts. Shopping. Even better – shoe shopping! Moi is jumping for joy. After months of reading about poop, vomit and other bodily fluids, I am finally speaking her language! I bet Mandy will even squirm in her seat over shoe talk. If her special guy mouths ‘poontang’ to her today, he is gonna get stilettos in the air for sure. Every gal loves a good shoe shopping story. They get all excited and talk progressively louder. Smiles widen and the next thing you know a giant pillow fight in their negligee breaks out. Oh wait, this is a story for the gals, not the guys.

I admit I dig shoes. I have no issue with women having closets full of shoes. I have a fair amount of shoes myself. I have a couple pairs of black shoes I can wear for work and more casually. I have formal black shoes in case somebody dies or gets married (sort of the same thing, really). I have brown shoes in case I’m in a brown belt kind of mood. I have my Chucks for lounging around and cutting the grass. I have sandals and flip flops. I have slip-on Merrells. I even have those blue clogs with no tread that are guaranteed to make you slip on something within twelve point five minutes of initial wearing. I have running shoes. I have basketball shoes. I have baseball cleats. I have golf shoes and snow shoes. I have hiking shoes, hiking boots, and gortex snow boots. I have steel tipped work boots. I have casual shoes that look like bowling shoes.

I actually wear all these shoes at one time or another, but never at the same time. That would be uncomfortable. With all that said; I wear the two pairs of black shoes for work and play the most. Therefore, they wear out the most. I really like my Ecco loafers. They feel like slippers.



I have gone through two pairs over the years and need new ones again. I usually deviate on the second pair of black shoes for alternating in and out. I went to Nordstrom to grab my Eccos and see what else they had for the second pair. These shoes tend to last me a couple years so I usually go through sticker shock, forgetting how much they cost. I found what I thought was the same kind for $175. Fuck me, I’m a guy and do I really need to spend that much on shoes? I found a slightly different version that was $125 and figured those must be the right ones. I easily justified the cost by calculating that if I wear them two hundred times, I would be at sixty-two cents a wearing (how do you like that math pwn star?). As I waited for the overly friendly sales guy, I wandered over to the clearance racks. Hold your skirts ladies! I found the exact same shoe, in my ginormous European size of 46 for just $95! Woooooot woooooooooot! That gets my two hundy times wearing ratio down to just forty-eight cents a pop! That is less than fiddy cents bitches!!! I nearly high fived the gal at the makeup counter on the way out.

For the second pair, I thought I should try to find a bargain, so I entered a world I have never entered before. Off Broadway. I later found out it is just like DSW Warehouse, whatever the heck that is. All I know is that there were tons of women scouring the ladies shoes while my kids wildly played a game called Monster as they ran up and down the aisles and hid under benches whenever I went searching for them. I told them to stop running a couple times but apparently monsters don’t understand dadspeak. Besides, I was too distracted by the incredible deals. We are looking at an average of thirty-three cents per wearing, people! They had all the big brands.

I was wearing sandals so I had to put on one of those thin nylon footies so as to avoid some nasty hoof and mouth disease that the fragile strands of recycled pantyhose over my sweaty clown feet would be sure to fend off.

Long story short, if it’s not too late, because I’m already getting tired of talking about shoe shopping and am itching to check sports scores and watch porn, I bought a pair of Steve Madden loafers that are similar to my Eccos, but were an additional 20% off the already phenomenally low price of $60. I paid just $48!! I’ll do the math for you again. At two hundred wearings, that is less than a quarter! Makes me want to get a mani/pedi over white wine with my girlfriends to talk all about it!

The biggest difference with the Steve Maddens is that they were made for people with club feet. I don’t have club feet, but just like you women that buy those fancy shoes with points that extend six inches beyond your biggest toe, I assume you aren’t all tall elves. Check these fuckers out.



They don’t need a shoebox because they are the shoebox! I can water ski in these things. I can teach geometry with my shoes as the props. When they wear out I will donate them to the homeless so they can build a shelter.

I warned my boys that these things will really hurt their bums if they don’t behave themselves. I told them to imagine being kicked by a brick made of pure steel. They both roared at me and skipped merrily over to the women’s pumps while I stood there in my nylon footy eyeballing the Merrell camping sandals. Just as I was about to try one on, I heard an avalanche of shoe boxes crashing to the ground followed immediately by two suddenly very quiet monsters sheepishly sneaking back to my side.

My boys rebuilt the pyramid while I paid for my bargain Steve Maddens and looked forward to showing them off to my Neanderthal friends back at the cave.

I think I got that shopping bug out of my system for at least a year. Now let’s get back to lingerie pillow fights, porn and baseball.