Every day after school since Christmas break, I’ve scurried home in anticipation of a parcel waiting on my doorstep.
Right now, we’re not going to get into the fact that Canada Post seems to think a big label reading “Signature Required” actually means “just toss it on the front step in full view where any loser can steal it.”
The eagerly-awaited shipment was a new pair of boots from Nordstrom, which I ordered from their fabulous boot sale just after the holidays. I’ve been wanting a pair of short, snazzy boots for quite some time, the sort I could wear with a dress or jeans or anything else that strikes my fancy. My one requirement, other than needing boots without a pointy, “I’ll get you my pretty” toes, was to find a pair in a pretty colour. It seems everyone has black boots, and I tend to pursue things that are different from the norm.
Tuesday after work, there was a box waiting on my step. Thank you Canada Post, I guess. Like the incredible shoes I ordered for my elopement with The Electrician, also abandoned on my stairs exposed to the elements and would-be thieves, my beautiful boots experienced an afternoon of risk and high-adventure, waiting for my arrival. Canada Post pulled the same garbage with my wedding dress too, an act that was beyond infuriating.
I could smell the leather before I even opened the box. I’ve never splurged on a pair of boots before, and while these babies were 1/3 off the regular price when I ordered them, they were still the most expensive footwear I’ve ever bought, save my wedding shoes. My thought was to snag an amazing price on a pair of boots that would last a half decade at least, a pair that was comfy and supportive so teaching on my feet all day wouldn’t be a pain.
I gasped when I lifted away the four sheets of tissue paper, branded with the shoe maker’s name and folded into the center of the box like the petals of a flower. Cradled in the cardboard were my boots, bright blue (think Cookie Monster) and gleaming softly. They had stacked wood heels and a brass zipper up the inside, plus tone on tone whip stitching. Inside, the entire surface designed for a foot was cushy and welcoming, like a spa for toes.
The astute among you have noticed I am discussing my stunning blue boots in the past tense. Well done. Here is where the story of my boots takes a fairly dramatic turn toward disaster.
We dress up on Thursdays at my school. In the warmer months–all three of them–it’s easy to throw on a skirt and a nice top with a pretty shoes. While there’s snow on the ground, however, an open-toe shoe is foot suicide. Enter the incredible new boots I treated myself with as a “January blahs” preventative. I could not wait to wear my new blue boots and dress pants to work, so much so that I only hit snooze once on Thursday morning.
Prepare yourself: this next development is crushing.
My official duties at school start at 8:25 a.m. At 8:22 a.m., I realized the zippers on both boots had split. That would be the right boot and its neighbour, the left boot. I did have some trouble zipping the right boot on my way out the door, but frankly, I’m in such a rush in the early morning that I’m surprised I arrive at school wearing matching clothes some days. There I was, wearing the most buttery soft boots in such a pretty colour, and they were both yawning wide on the sides. I’m glad I had the foresight to bring a spare pair of sneakers to work that day, even if they were wet from me dropping them in the snow on my way to the car.
To clarify, I have small feet and slim ankles. The boots were not too small; in fact, I ordered them up a half size from my normal number to allow for swelling on extra-long work days. There was no reason at all they shouldn’t have zipped easily and stayed closed. In what appears to be the worst boot luck ever, my blue beauties arrived with two faulty zippers. I even had a friend at work who wears the same size shoe try them on, and the zippers split immediately for her as well. I was bummed all day, and wearing my old sneakers didn’t help my mood.
Thankfully, I can’t say enough about how awesome Nordstrom’s customer service department was in addressing my understandable disappointment and processing a return for the boots: they are even paying for the return shipping on my former boots. The particular model and colour I fell in love with was sold out on Thursday, so I opted for a refund rather than an exchange. Although I’m so disappointed that my quest for the perfect jewel-toned boot continues, I’m still a big fan of Nordstrom for special purchases, and maybe I’ll try their website again soon.
In the meantime, perhaps I should become a part-time cobbler and just start building my own. Hey, it worked for the chick from P.S. I Love You. I could do great things with a teensy hammer.
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