Shoes

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Whew, this evening was fun. Mom drove me to therapy, as she often does on Friday, and then we detoured to look at shoes for her at a local shop.

The kid that jumped up eagerly to help us was probably in his mid to late twenties or so, and looked very fit. And fairly blond. He seemed perhaps just a little bit nervous, which put me more at ease.

He gendered me correctly just fine once mom produced the proper cues, and he even sized me on the women's shoe gauge. (What are those things called, I know there's a name for them?)

After my mom's first slew of tries, I elected to get in on the action. May as well, right?

I tried on a bunch of shoes concurrently with my mother, and our helper ended up going back and forth between us, trying to keep us both busy. At times bringing us two to three pairs of nice running shoes at a time, and frantically trying to prepare them for us to schlep our tired feet into.

It was so goofy, and the salesperson was so eager to help us, I eventually kind of got into it and had fun. (Though I did sweat through my deodorant at some point, I must've been a bit nervous...? (The clerk was rather cute...?!))

In the end, mom got some great trail running shoes. I did not, however, find anything. I stumped him with my foolishly bizarre feet. He did try valiantly, I must admit.

He even diplomatically suggested a few times, "sizing up in a men's of this model to see if it's any wider". Very smooth, Tony. Extremely, amazingly smooth.

I may not have found anything that fit, but wherever you are, Tony? You made my day.

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