Hey, maybe this story line is getting old for you. But it happened again, which I don’t mind…
Four months ago I was shopping with a friend and saw “a pair of shoes.” Well, more like, “the perfect pair of shoes.” I tried them on. I fell in love. I put them back. Somehow, I convinced myself I didn’t need them. And since the price tag said $25, I decided to be frugal and miserable.
With each passing week, I have worn outfit after outfit that was thoroughly, wretchedly incomplete without those shoes. I have been solemnly filled with regret and remorse for passing them up. No joke. And I’m not a teenager anymore. True story.
On a recent Saturday, I swung by that store, committed to righting my terrible mistake in buying THE SHOES, if I could possibly find them. I searched high and low over a couple floors in a store that sets shoes out randomly and apparently, inconspicuously. I had four sales associates on a search for shoes that I described from memory. They ransacked the back, wrung out the computer system, and commiserated religiously with me. Finally, I was resigned. They were no longer available. The last pair was apparently in Portland, OR, in a size 11. Thanking my new friends, I rode down an escalator to wait in the checkout line—without my precious shoes.
Bins of clutches, zipper pouches, bracelets, cosmetics, and girl stuff where all around me as I waited. Suddenly, out of the corner of my eye, I sighted something spiked, brown, and buckled nestled underneath a heap of fabric near my feet. I reached down and pulled out the very shoes I had wanted, in my size. So, I held them close to my heart and strode up to checkout. They rang up at $8.50. I’m pretty sure Somebody loves me and looks out for even the little stuff. Isn’t He wonderful?
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