I never intended to get every last penny out of my favorite pair of sandals, it just happened.
All summer, my sandals have been falling apart. First a strap frayed. Then another strap completely broke and I was forced to cut it off. This week, the sole fell out. Despite some extra strong adhesive, they are not long for this world–and if my husband gets to them before they break any further, they will be tossed out immediately. I’m desperately working at replacing my well-worn sandals, but it’s proving more difficult than I imagined.
I’m not a “shoe girl.” I have a few pairs and I stick with them. After years of sports and dance classes, my feet are terrible. I have one of the worst cases of plantar fasciitis my doc said he has ever seen. My shoes are typically those with little heel, lots of support and plenty of room for my custom orthotics. They are typically far from attractive–but totally functional. Sandals are hard because I can’t use my orthotics…and with all of the walking we do over the summer, I am for comfort.
In days that pre-date my husband, I had a pair of sandals that I wore nearly every day of the summer. I wore them to the beach, in the water, to work, around the house and just about anywhere I could. Michigan summers are short and I wanted to lap up every second of sandal-wearing weather. But then, they started to smell. At first, I thought it was my feet, but it turns out fake leather starts to mold and decompose when exposed to the elements. Then the strap broke and that was that.
I got another pair just before we were married. They were brown Sketchers. They had a little strap that went over my big toe and then some other straps but they were unobtrusive and comfortable. Well, they were until the strap broke and then they became impossible to wear.
After those shoes died, I distinctly remember taking a lot of time to find the next pair. The current pair. Another pair of brown Sketchers. Flats, with lots of cushion between me and the pavement. There are no straps that fit tightly or those that go between my toes. They were nearly perfect.
Until a strap broke in July. I fixed it enough by cutting it. It stayed on my foot and worked fine.
Until the sole of the shoe fell out when we got back from camping last week. It was hanging on by a thread and rocks were getting caught up inside.
My dad, who is even more economical than I am, used some professional-grade adhesive and it appears to be holding up well, but my husband is dead set on getting rid of these shoes.
“We can afford it,” he says.
“It can’t be that hard to find a new pair,” he says.
“Things can be replaced even before they have completely deteriorated,” he says.
So we visited five stores in one evening and found nothing. Nothing. I have shoes I can wear in the meantime, but now I’m even afraid to order a pair on Amazon. If my in-person experience was so bad, what will happen when I order a pair, wait two days and then immediately hate the way the bottom feels on my feet?
I’m pretty sure it would just be easier to keep the pair I have.
While my husband thinks this is my resistance to spending money, it may just be that I have reached a new level of laziness. I really just don’t want to look for a new pair of sandals.
And this transfers over to other items. I will wear T-shirts until they have holes. I will drive cars until they are rust buckets with no air conditioning. I will use every inch of craft supplies. I will get my money’s worth out of the things I have.
But what a problem to have. I have just spent nearly 600 words whining about shoes. Shoes. And my ability to try on dozens of pairs, but my inability to commit to one pair. Not my inability to afford or my inability to find shoes that fit or a host of other complications.
Okay, now I just feel guilty on another level.
I think it’s going to be easier just to keep the pair I have.
At least for now.
In the meantime, keep your eyes open for a pair of sandals that looks like those in the picture and let me know if you find some I might like. I will someday be replacing my sandals.