Flying W Things

Yep, it's been a busy summer. (Not that you'd know that from reading Flying W Things.) In an effort to catch up a bit I thought I'd post some Summer Stories over the next few weeks - you won't get all thousand but I might crank out five or ten. Here goes nothing:

Story One

(In Which You Learn That I Am Vain And I Learn That I Am Becoming A Woman)

Earlier this summer we went to my 20th high school reunion in Oklahoma. Technically, I am not an alumnus of Weatherford High School but the students of the WHS Class of 1985 are My People in a way my graduating class in California will never be.

Anyway. Not pertinent to the story.

As I have lived in California these last twenty years, I felt it was important for me to look the part of a Californian. Since I am an engineer with limited capabilities in the realm of style, I relied heavily on my wife and fashionista sister to help me put together an ensemble for the reunion dinner. After a couple marathon shopping sessions I had everything but a pair of shoes.

And so, two days before we left, I was still short shoes. I could picture the pair I wanted in my head and just needed to find some. How hard could it be?

After work I headed over to the mall to hunt me down a pair. Being methodical, I started at one end of the mall, expecting to be done by the time I walked out of the second anchor store.

Thirty minutes and a third of the mall later, I had seen three types of shoes: Wrong, Too Expensive, and Too Small. (Guys that wear size 13 don't often run into shoes that are too big.)

After another thirty minutes I had seen a lot more of these three types, but the Too Expensive category was shrinking fast. Too expensive? Ha! I Need Shoes! I found myself having interesting dialogue with myself. The inner voice was saying things like "Does the price of the shoes really matter if they complete The Ensemble?"

I was running out of options fast. All of a sudden, I stood before The Last Store In The Mall That Sells Men's Shoes. I trudged back to the men's shoe department to look around. They had a pair of shoes that looked like the pair I had imagined! But of course they would not have my size, no, of course not, of course I would find myself back at the Foolishly Expensive Boutique of Shoes where the smarmy manager had a $1,000,000 pair of "Mr. Right Now" shoes on hold for me. I approached the sales guy, shoe in hand, and asked for my size.

With a disinterested "hmmph" he disappeared into the bowels of the store to check. (Strike One.)

He was gone for a long time. (Strike Two.)

When he reappeared he told me that some other clerk would be helping me. (Strike Three!)

But then a woman appeared holding a shoe box. "Were you waiting for these size thirteens?" (But wait! The ball gets by the catcher! I race up the line and beat the throw to first base! Safe! SAFE!)

The shoes fit! They looked good! I could not freaking believe it! I was absolutely giddy. I made stupid chirpy small talk with the clerk while she rang up my shoes, and I floated out to my car, happy as a clam.

And then two things hit me like a ton of bricks.

First, women probably go through this all the time they need a pair of shoes for an outfit. Boy, that must really suck. (Unless of course they find bitchin' shoes like I did and then it would be great!)

Second, getting that excited about buying a pair of shoes makes me think that I am turning into a woman. Where do I sign up for Oprah's book club?