And on to New York...
The week before the trip to Italy, I took my mom to New York for the US Open. She loves tennis, and loves Roger Federer, so it was a dream of hers to see him play at the Open. She had that dream fulfilled on opening day; we saw eventual winner Kim Klijsters, then Roger, then Serena Williams that day. Got a wicked sunburn, but all in all a great day. Then came Day 2.
With so many great trips happening that summer, I knew I needed some great sandals. I searched high and low, for months, for a pair that were both good-looking and supremely comfortable, and that wouldn't need to be broken in. I found the perfect pair in a store called Richey and Co. in Charlottesville, Virginia. The shoes were made by Gentle Souls, which is a Kenneth Cole division. They weren't cheap (surprise!). The shoes are notable because the insole is covered in super-soft kid leather, and the inside is partly flax seeds, which conform to the shape of your foot, for maximum comfort. And they were so comfortable! I wore the shoes a few times before my trip, to be sure they'd be up for the task of walking from one end of Manhattan to the other.
On our way to Day 2 of the tennis, Mom and I were wandering down Madison Avenue, and I thought to myself, wow, these shoes are great. We turned the corner onto 42nd street, and went into Grand Central. As I turned to head down into the subway, I took a step and, thwack, off came my left shoe! The back strap, which was elastic, had snapped off and acted like a slingshot, flinging the shoe off my foot and into the door 10 feet in front of me! As the shoes were little more than awesome soles and a few straps, there was literally nothing left to keep the it on my foot. I hopped over to my shoe, and stuck my foot into the one skinny strap that was still sort of attached. And that's when the cursing started. There was no way I could go to Queens with only one shoe, so we had to go back to the hotel. Although I had planned to wear these awesome sandals for my whole trip, my pessimistic nature forced me to pack a spare pair. I limp/shuffled, still cursing like a sailor, while my poor mom commiserated, and we walked back out to the street. People stared.
The New York Palace, where we were staying, was a full 8 blocks uptown; a nice walk when both of your feet work, but not so easy in my condition. We took a cab back, and as I watched the meter tick away another 10 bucks out of my pocket, I planned. I planned the speech I was going to give some poor sap at the Kenneth Cole store in Rockefeller Center later that day. I planned the excoriating letter I'd send to Richey and Co. I would demand a full refund. I would demand to be reimbursed for the cab. I'd do all of this...tomorrow. Because right then I had to make my way through the very fancy lobby of the Palace wearing only one shoe, then change footwear and run back to Grand Central. We had to get out to Queens immediately, to see some more tennis, and so my sunburn could go from pink to fuchsia.
One thing you should know about me is that I am not a steady coal fire, I'm a firecracker. I burn white hot, then cool off quickly. All those nasty comments I was going to unload on Kenneth Cole and the shoe store stayed in my head. I never went to the store. I never wrote the letter. I am still out a considerable pile of dough for a pair of shoes I wore maybe 6 times, and the cab that took me back to the Palace, but I couldn't keep the rage intact long enough to yell at anybody about it. I kept the shoes. I'll probably end up paying some shoe repair guy to put on a decent strap so I can wear them again next summer. Seriously, they were that comfortable.
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