Fool Me Twice

In laboratories all over the world, rats are trained to do things like run through mazes based on a system of reward and punishment. Ring the bell, get the cheese. Do the wrong thing, get zapped. Their furry little brains soon tell them how to avoid getting zapped.

Tim and I, on the other hand, are apparently not as bright as those lab rats.

After the whole winter coat shopping debacle last fall, you would think we would have learned our lesson. But noooooo.

When Tom and Beth told us they were taking the kids back-to-school shoe shopping, what did we do? Did we say, "Sorry, we're busy"? Noooo. Did we plead illness or a sudden trip? Noooo. Did we at least tell them to start without us? Nooo.

Instead, we drove out to the mall on Labor Day weekend, along with every parent with school age children, teenagers with their friends, retired people with their grandchildren, and visiting tourists with their cameras. In short, pretty much the entire population of the DC Metro area. And they all needed school shoes. (Didn't these people know they were supposed to be home barbecuing?)

I had the feeling that as lab rats, we'd have been demoted to testing sleep medications for ending up in another painful shopping situation. Again.

And if fighting the crowds wasn't bad enough, we had to deal with three different shoe departments: men's and women's for the two older kids and children's for the two "littles".

Somehow, Tim contrived to head off to the relatively sane world of men's and women's with the two "bigs", and Beth and I (and later Tom, who I suspect tried to escape it altogether) got the fun-filled task of trying to find appropriate shoes that met with the "littles" approval. (As parents, Tom and Beth really had to do this, but I'm pretty sure that by not sneaking off to the restroom for an extended "visit",I had slipped even lower on the lab rat job scale and would probably be lucky if I was even considered smart enough to be a crash test dummy rat.)

Our niece, with me in tow, quickly headed for the ugliest, tackiest, Vegas-showgirl style shoes to be had. With their neon sparkles and multi-colored spangles, they looked like they had been designed by a drunken monkey with a bedazzler and a bad attitude.

Firmly placing the blame on the fashion challenged heathens at the school and their silly "appropriate school shoe" policy (that I totally made up), I commiserated with her even as I steered her away from a pair of satin polka-dot open-toed shoes with two-inch heels.

"If it was up to me," I sighed, shaking my head, "I'd let you have them, but the school wouldn't let you into class with shoes like that." Hehehe.

Wistfully petting all the shiny, cool shoes, she eventually settled for a pain of black Juicy Couture ballet flats(the Jimmy Choo of kid's world)....and pink and blue plaid flats...and brown loafers...and silver and pink sneakers, all courtesy of the very "helpful" saleslady who was clearly working on commission.

Seeing her eyes drift toward the $400 Prada boots (wow, something even more expensive than Juicy!), Beth and I fixed her with a glare that threatened death if she even leaned in their direction, and we moved on to finding shoes for our nephew.

Unlike his sister, the Imelda Marcos of first grade, he had more interest in climbing the shoe racks than actually trying on the shoes. There followed fifteen minutes of, "No, you may not swing from that bar, this is not a playground." and, "I said walk around to make sure the shoes fit, not race around like your pants are on fire and someone is chasing you with a can of gasoline" and, "Hanging upside down from the chair while singing Disney songs is not helping get the shoes on your feet."

Finally though, six hours later (okay, it was really only about an hour, but it felt like six), he had a pair of brown loafers and, not to be outdone by his sister, a pair of gold sneakers (do all children have such appalling taste?).

By this time, Tim and the "bigs" were back with their purchases, looking a lot better for the wear than we were (I'll bet he didn't once have to pull either one of them out from under the display tables.).

As we headed off with enough shoes to open our own shop, I wondered if this fulfilled our obligation for the year, or if winter coats were again in our future. Somehow I have the feeling we will be getting zapped again.