Shocking, I know. A woman who doesn't like shopping. I hate it. Partly because of the whole concept of shoe fashion, partly because I have freakishly wide feet, and mostly because I hate fellow shoe shoppers.
Unfortunately, that was the main goal of today's trip to the mall. I don't own a pair of nice shoes for formal (or any other, for that matter) occasions. I own sneakers. No boots, no slippers and definitely no heels of any kind. Just one pair of the ugly gray, white and orange sneakers of the only brand I will allow my foot to reside in.
So, with the wake and funeral fast approaching, it was with much trepidation that I embarked on this particular journey. The mere thought of so many shoes makes me ill. My feet cramp up with phantom sympathy pains at the sight of all those precariously balanced heels. The cute little buckles and sequins and shapely designs are gag-inducing monstrosities.
In short, shoe shopping reveals the uncivilized barbarian I go to great lengths to hide.
The gods of shoes smiled upon me today, luckily for all involved. Not only did I find a pair that didn't resemble some sort of medieval torture device, but they had my size! In wide! And on sale! Still ridiculously overpriced, but my wallet didn't spontaneously combust, so I count it as a win.
And of course I had to reward myself for surviving this trip to the dark side of my inherent biology. My choice? Books, of course. I selected three, all completely outside of my normal preference. Nary a dragon nor assassin lurking within these pages, but they remain worthy nonetheless. The following have been added to my collection:
Dress Your Family in Corduroy and Denim by David Sedaris - I remember the Six to Eight Black Men story from high school, but the rest were new. I actually read the entire thing earlier this evening after finally finishing the behemoth tome of The Terror. I enjoyed it and will likely be picking up other books by him in the future.
Next by Michael Crichton - I can't not buy it despite the reviews. Crichton spurred my interest in reading after the books in my age group proved too easy and boring for my reading level. I was in third grade when I read my first Crichton novel, The Lost World. I've since read (and still own) almost every book he's written. (Also a huge fan of E.R. back in the day.) His loss late last year was devastating to me on a very personal level. Thus, I feel that my library will not be complete without a full collection of his works, for better or worse.
Cold Fire by Dean Koontz - I put this on my Amazon list not too long ago, though the exact reason why has escaped me at the moment. I was sad to see the book out of print, but either Amazon lied or they just happened to be out of stock while I was looking for it. When I saw it on the shelf I had to grab it immediately, for fear that it would disappear forever and deprive me of the ability to read it. There is nothing more irritating than wanting to read something and not being able to.
However, before I read anything else I need to finish Way of the Shadows. Lately I seem to have developed a bad habit of picking up a book, starting it, then buying another book and reading that instead. Ordinarily I read my books as soon as I buy them but now I have a towering stack of unread books to work through. Somehow they just keep sitting there, gathering dust, while I just keep buying, partially reading, then buying something else ad infinitum.
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