Running Shoes

Yesterday, after spending a small fortune on two of my teenage sons at Zumiez (and not getting the one thing that they actually needed--jeans), we ended up at Ross.  Quality time had deteriorated into quantity time, and I was in a serious funk, so I turned the boys loose and said something like, “I don’t want to see you again unless you come back with jeans!” 

I decided that since I was there, I may as well indulge in some shopping therapy (when in Rome and all that…), and I began to wander the aisles aimlessly.  After about 10 minutes of adding random stuff to my cart—sundresses, strapless sundresses, ridiculously high wedge heels, running shoes, men’s socks, a bright orange swimsuit (?!), I decided, somewhat reluctantly, that it was time to hit the dressing rooms.

Once in the dressing room, I discovered that overnight my body had begun to resemble a pear—a pear!  (Okay, so maybe it didn’t happen overnight or perhaps the lighting in my home is better than the dressing room lighting…)  After several agonizing “try-ons” (the bright orange swimsuit being the final nail in the self esteem coffin), I came to the conclusion that the only items in my cart that would truly make me feel better about myself were the running shoes. 

They say that the first step in getting help is admitting that you have a problem.  Well, people, I have a problem—I’m starting to look like a pear.  The second step actually preceded the first step—I bought those running shoes (and the men’s socks…I have big feet!).  Now it's time to get out and run!