For those of you following the shitstorm taking place in my life, you should know it hailed diarrhea on me yesterday. I’d been eyeing this pair of Palladium boots for months and finally committed to my first purchase on Amazon in a moment of weakness.
A day later a mysterious $464 Long Island Railroad charge appeared on my debit card, making them the most expensive pair of boots I’ve ever owned. Thanks, shady Amazon seller. After I cancel my debit card, I hope your train crashes.
Regardless, I’ve been looking forward to the boots, as if they were going to solve all my problems. The package arrived yesterday, and I happily signed the etch-a-sketch my UPS guy carried with him. I couldn’t get into the box fast enough! It felt like Christmas, except instead of my parents buying me boots, the government did. (Did I mention I’m unemployed?)
I dumped the peanuts from the box all over my kitchen floor and laid eyes on my new favorite boots. The first thing I noticed was that one looked a little bigger than the other – no matter, so are breasts and they still manage to fit into a bra, right? That’s when I detected the more significant problem. They were both for left feet. Two left-footed boots, two different sizes, one girl standing in her kitchen speechless.
I went through every stage of grief in the hours that followed. At first, there was denial. I stared at them for 10 minutes like I was trying to solve a Rubik’s Cube. Was I high(er than I thought)? I looked away and looked back, looked away, looked back, expecting to see a right boot if I strained my eyes enough.
Then came the guilt. I remembered several of my past regrettable e-bay purchases, all of which took place because I didn’t read the descriptions quite close enough. (I spent $50 on a tester bottle of perfume once – but the image size was HUGE!) Perhaps I’d failed to see an asterisk next to the boots? I returned to the website thinking I might find, “*Both boots are lefts” at the bottom of the page. Then I remembered that no one in the world has two left feet*.
Next came anger. I thought, “Fuck you, Amazon! I’m wearing them tonight anyway.” I put them on and resembled something of an accidental clown. I laughed at myself and managed to move onto that acceptance and hope stage of grief. What a bunch of overrated bullshit that stage is. So I went back to the anger stage, logged onto Amazon, and ordered another pair of fuckin’ boots.
*Even terrible dancers have a right foot.
