On Saturday morning Mel and I were out at my mom’s place for a bit, helping her with some chores.
Afterwards we headed out to get some lunch. We were driving down a busy road laden with strip malls. As I passed one plaza I noticed a larger banner hung outside one of the shops. It said BIRKENSTOCK.
“Whoa!” I yelled, and immediately moved to the right hand lane. The driveway for the plaza was coming up.
Mel immediately said “What?! What’s going on?” I pulled in the driveway and doubled back to the store.
“I just wanna check out this shoe store,” I said. Mel was yelling by the time I pulled into a parking space.
“You scared the CRAP out of me for this?!? A SHOE STORE?” I hopped out of the car and headed for the store. She followed, still yelling.
“You, you… SHOE ASSHOLE!”
Heh. Then I made her try on three pairs of shoes. Because I’m a shoe asshole.
She acts like being a shoe asshole is a BAD thing.
Jeeze, if she thinks you are a shoe asshole, she oughtta see my monthly shoe bill. She’d think I was an entire digestive tract *plus* the asshole.
Hee. I’m a shoe asshole too! Perhaps there’s a support group of some type for chronic shoe assholiness?
Well, she does only have around five pairs of shoes. I probably have around 20 but I just got rid of a bunch last year so that’s low for me. But, I’ve just upped my collection by three pair. In the last few weeks I’ve bought both Birks and Dansko off eBay and Mel bought me a pair of sandals from Land’s End.
Now THAT’s the best story I’ve heard in a while… shoe asshole!
We shoe assholes have to stick by each other. How many pairs does one need to possess in order to officially be known as a shoe asshole?
I am an admitted shoe ho.
Recent stormy, wet weather in Texas gave me a reason to wear my new, French Foreign Legion boots. Whoo, was I in hog heaven, sloshing through puddles with my socks staying dry as toast.
Being a shoe asshole is a pleasure.
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