Monday, February 06, 2012

Hobbit Feet

Today was largely unproductive.  Why?

...yeah that's pretty accurate.  Heck, I didn't even draw my own comic on lack of productivity.  Dang.

There's always tomorrow I suppose.
Before that new day dawns though, let's take a second to talk about stereotypes.

Gosh, they're so ugly. And they're like, totally always false, right?
Here's some fun stereotypes I've heard about Americans living in Mexico:

  1. We're stupid.
  2. We're so rich we don't understand the value of money.
  3. The women have gigantic troll feet.

You know what folks?  We could play two lies and a truth on this list. Give it a shot.

Getting ahead of myself.  Last Friday we were invited out to a trendy Rock 'n' Roll bar in San Pedro.  So we decided to "Fake it or Make it."  And as cute as I thought I looked before I walked out the door, this wasn't a "Make it" type of night.  I got out of the car at the place, and looking around I immediately felt like I might as well have worn a burlap sack and one dirty sock with a hole in the toe.

I would be lying if I said that didn't get under my skin.  I spent the night feeling really uncomfortable, taking note of exactly what it was about the fashions around me that made them more appropriate for the setting we were in.  I compiled a short list:

  1. I was not wearing a mini skirt
  2. My heels were not 5 inches or greater with platforms, and they were not stilettos.
  3. I was wearing my glasses
  4. My hair is not long enough (most women here have hair at least half way down their backs)
  5. My shirt was not low cut or backless.
  6. I wasn't wearing near enough makeup or jewelry.

People, when I say I was uncomfortable, I mean I would rather have been pulling my fingernails out one by one than look like I looked sitting in that club that night.  So I decided to focus my efforts on fixing at least one item in order to calm my anxieties.  I'm running low on my contacts, so 3 isn't fixable.  I'm not under 25 years old, and i refuse to go into public without a bra on, so I have some issues about giving in to 1or 5.  That much makeup can only lead to a barrage of zits, so nix 6.  I can't change 4 with anything but time.  So that leaves 2 in my head.

I promptly informed Fiance that I would need to buy some proper shoes, ASAP.  "Hey I need some stripper shoes" is not a hard sell for a man, FYI.

Saturday we just so happened to be on the other side of the mountain getting Dora looked at by a mechanic (she's fine, just basic maintenance type stuff), and so while that was going on Fiance, C and I trekked to a mall filled with stuff we could afford - cue shoe search, 2012.

Well, first I had to ditch Fiance and C- I'm not a group shopper.  They seemed okay with not being dragged into every shoe store there, so off I went.

Kp, meet brick wall of tiny feet.
Seriously.  I went to four different stores.  Here's how each one went.

Store 1- Found a pair I liked and asked for some help.  Explained that I didn't know my number in Mexican sizes because I am American.  The clerk asked for my size in US numbers. He clearly knew the formula to translate that to Mexican sizes, but you could tell as he worked through it in his brain, he got a number that he assumed MUST have been wrong.  So he gave me a size 4 to try on.  Which was more or less like being an evil stepsister trying on Cinderella's glass slipper to fool the prince.  They didn't have anything larger.

Store 2 - Walked in and spoke with the ladies behind the counter, and again explained that I was American and didn't know my Mexican shoe size. They asked for my American size, I told them 9.5.  One of them said "you're a size... 7 here."  And then they laughed.  I'm not kidding.  Feeling like an absolute freak, I decided that I would truffle shuffle out of that store without asking to try anything on.

Store 3 - Told the lady I was a size 7.  Asked if they had anything with a high heel.  Was informed that they didn't, most women's shoes only go up to size 6.  But if I was really in a pinch, they probably had some men's shoes that would fit me.  Promptly left store number 3.

Store 4 - Saw shoes, like gleaming electric sex through the store window.  Gulped and went in.  "Do you have these in a 7?"  And the lady replied with "are you American?"
Ugh.  "Yes."

"Hmm.  Well, I don't think we have those in that size.  But we might have something similar. Let me look."
And this lady, this saint of a lady, without poking fun at me or telling me I should get men's shoes, went in the back of the store and brought out 4 pairs of stilettos that might just work.  So help me, we found a pair that fit my foot, and my criteria.  That lady is my new hero.  And the winning pair?

They're coved in black glitter.  Just in case you were confused by the shine in the pic.

Once I met back up with Fiance and C, I explained my journey, still feeling a little worse for wear with getting laughed at.  Fiance and I have since spent our time staring at every woman's feet we see, and you know what?  They really are tiny. Mexican women, how do you walk on those?  I wanna know!

Have you ever had a shopping experience that knocked your self-confidence down a few pegs in a way you weren't expecting?  Commiserate with me in the comments!


Sullykins said...

I've been in the same boat as you KP, not necessarily with shoes, but with pants. As you know, I'm fairly short, 5'1" all that way! And I also have hips...which I love and hate. Most jeans are NOT designed for women with hips. And if they are, they aren't for shortys like me. I dread going jean shopping. I always end up hating my curves and feeling like punching that sales ladies in the face. I found one pair of jeans once, great for my height...but not for my hips. I ended up not buying them because it just wasn't worth all the sneers of judgement I was getting from the sales demons...I mean ladies. Now I stick with buying the few jeans that fit my hips and cut the extra length at the bottom off and sew it to look decent. Keep on trucking KP! And I miss you, Bubba and Mac!

Kp said...

Oh pants. I always have a hard time finding pants that are long enough for my legs and ... ahem... high enough on my hips, without being mom jeans. Mexicans tend to have no shame of showing off their calling as a nation of plumbers, so I haven't even bothered to try finding new jeans down here.