Mission: Accomplished

Yesterday, I went grocery shopping with Steve and, while he bought meat and staples, I bought fruits, vegetables, bed linens, a bath-tub mat, a couple of inexpensive shirts, and a pair of bright yellow rainboots.

The produce cost about $35; the entire tab was close to $200. Now we know why there is a big trend towards super-stores. As I've mentioned many times before, it is a darned good thing that Steve does the grocery shopping. My morning sleep-ins save us a lot of money.

Anyway, I gingerly tried the boots on in the store. They were snug, but not pinchy. When I got home, I tucked in the arch supports I bought last week and they were surprisingly comfortable.

It was only after taking them off that I noticed my foot popping as I walked around barefoot. It was a strange sensation as the ball of the foot hit the floor and rolled forward. It did stop after a few minutes, so I think it's temporary. Steve thinks I may have done something to a ligament, so the arch supports are a very good idea.

Today, we went for a walk in the forest - to enjoy the sunshine (and build up my store of vitamin D) and to try out the boots.

Spring is still in the very early stages here: the ground is sodden, the very earliest of flowers are braving their way above ground, and the buds are juuuuust beginning to push their way out. We walked for about three or four kilometres, just enough to find that the boots were just fine.

We sat down to have an ice cream (yes, I know it was only 6 C, but I was HOT) and I remarked on an odd smell I'd noticed a few times during our walk. I thought it smelled like pot, but it had followed us, so that didn't make any sense. Steve said it smelled like rubber, at which point I realized it was the darned boots.

There is no way I was going to have my entire wardrobe/suitcase smelling like that for the entire trip, so I decided I would leave the boots at home.

We continued on our way and mere seconds later an elderly woman walking towards us paused and said, "Those are just beautiful!" and pointed at the boots.

Well. That nailed it. I'll bring the boots. I've put them on the front porch, hoping the rubber smell will dissipate. And I'll pack them in plastic bags so they won't contaminate everything.

And knowing my luck, Ireland will have its driest spring on record this year. Which is fine with me, as it is really difficult to hold both an umbrella and a camera.

Shoe Motherlode

I am a girly-girl. As such, I have a thing for shoes. (You may recall my joy when I finally found my trove of work shoes after our big move.) Well, lately I've been thinking that my shoes are a little on the dowdy side.

While my workplace officially has a "business casual" dress code, the women there take their footwear pretty seriously. Many of my old stand-bys were serviceable, but getting dowdy. Plus, I have a wedding tonight and thought some dressy pumps were in order. So, while I was at the mall today, I stopped by a shoe store.

There, at the back wall, was a display of samples. I had forgotten all about sample shoes. They come only in size six, and my feet are - you guessed it! - size six.

The downside is, of course, that there is never much selection. Well. It was my lucky day.

These are the shoes for tonight. They are astonishingly comfortable, thanks, in part, to that elastic strip and a very moderate heel.

These are new office shoes. Don't you love the detail on the toe?
And the combination of black and red-brown makes them go with almost anything.

And a pair of dressy low heels for with slacks.

The salesgirl insisted that the first pair of shoes there (the ones with the bow) retail for about $500, and the others in the neighbourhood of $300. I found no proof of that, but since I paid under $100 each, I feel pretty good.

I'm doing a little Happy Feet dance!

What was I thinking?

Recently, I actually paid attention to my inner monologue while I was shopping.

Hmm, I pondered, of all the things I've seen, which do I like?

It was as if I'd thought:

Which do I dislike the least?

My mental assumption was that I was going to buy something. That was a foregone decision.

This is how I end up with blouses that don't fit, linens that are ugly, or things that end up being donated in a very short time (sometimes with the tags still on). Or even returned to the store after an attack of buyer's remorse.

I shared this thought with a couple of colleagues the other day as we reflected on consumer culture. One coworker mentioned that "big box" stores have found that the more product they have on display, the more people buy.

I think it appeals to an ingrained hunter-gatherer instinct: when there is bounty, we should harvest as much as we can in preparation for lean times. We don't seem to have any point of satiety.

(This, of course, applies to appetite as well, in my case.)

Of course, there are also times when I find something that appeals to me in a lasting way. I still regret passing up a handblown vase that we saw in Arizona. There are garments that I've worn so many times that they've actually become threadbare.

But my point is that I need to pay attention to that inner monologue, be more conscious of what my motivation is when I'm shopping. I'm not about to stop shopping -- let's be realistic -- but I want to be more aware of what need I am filling. (By the way, I do consider beauty to be something that I need.)

I do not regret buying these flowers.