If It Quacks Like a Duck, Walks Like a Duck, It Must Be Alan

As a kid, I once whined, cried, and begged my mom to buy me a pair of cowboy boots. She must have been having a hard time that day, because she actually gave in and bought them for me. I loved those things and wore them everywhere. Yes, I wore them everywhere, for about two days. The problem was and still is, that I have feet more appropriate for a duck than a human. My heels are narrow and The area around the ball of my feet are wide. After two days of being Cowboy Al, my feet were rubbed raw and painful blisters had formed on top of huge painful blisters.

I further degraded my feet as an adult, when I decided that spending the least amount of money for a pair of shoes was more important than buying shoes that fit correctly. For years I clomped around Chicago in ill fitting shoes, made in Poland of questionable materials. After years of bad shoes, my feet became more and more painful, and I found myself walking less and less. Even with the foot surgery I had last year, my feet still wouldn't be considered fit for use on most humans. I have actually considered having them cut off and then be fitted with those high tech springy, fake feet. I hear you can run fast on them.

Sunday, Mark and I went to the mall, and while Mark scoured Home Goods, and Marshalls, for more crap to bring home, I went looking for shoes. I don't like to shop for shoes with Mark, because he always tries to talk me into buying something fashionable, and I like to get what feels good. Unfortunately what feels good usually looks like something my grandmother would wear, and this time was no different. I found a pair of shoes that look awful, but on my walk around the block with Chandler this evening, I was glad I bought them. They felt good, and I'm pretty sure they don't make me look like Donald Duck.