My daughter Amy has been playing equestrian polo for four years. There is a lot more to be said about that, but not in this post.
As you might imagine, there are very few equestrian polo players. In all of Santa Clara County, for instance, there are less than ten high school polo players. So we drive to Gilroy, 37 miles away, for practices.
Gilroy is where your garlic probably comes from. It is old California ranch country, but it also has one of those outlet malls that spring up on the edge of densely populated areas. The outlet mall is only a few minutes drive from South Bay Ranch, where Amy practices.
Before she was able to drive herself, and even now on weekends, I go down to Gilroy with her. I love to walk around the ranch and watch the horses, but it is primitive there, and sometimes I am overcome by the urge to drink a latte and use a flush toilet, so I head to the mall.
One of my favorite stores to waste time in is Skechers shoe store. My daughters mock me mercilessly about my Skechers fixation, but I mean, if it’s good enough for Demi Lovato, it’s good enough for me.
As I was wandering around the store, taking advantage of the self-service aspect and trying on women's shoes that were too narrow for my fat foot, I suddenly had an inspiration.
In Crete last May, I needed sandals because my old Skechers had gotten so smelly that Ellen refused to be in the same room with them, and I had to throw them out. The only shoes that fit me in the beach shop were men’s sandals.
Aha! I thought. Why not try the men’s Skechers??? I spent a happy hour trying on all sorts of men’s Skechers, much to the bemusement of the actual men who were also trying them on.
I tried work boots, loafers, sneakers – and they all fit! I am now the proud owner of a pair of brown leather men’s sneakers, and access to a whole new world of fashion.
I tried to use this new trick in the Macy’s men’s shoe department, but it confused the lone salesman, a dapper seventy-year-old Cuban man, so much that I had to leave. He could not wrap his brain around the fact that I wanted to wear the shoes. He persisted in believing that I was trying them on for my husband, suggesting styles he might like better, and asking me to go retrieve my husband. Oh well, at least it works at DSW.