Do you think these sandals are cute? (these aren’t exactly the same ones, but they’re similar)

They’re not very glamorous, but those days of hot shoes are all done for me.  You cannot chase some kids around in hot shoes without dying and so these are pretty good.

They’re Borns, and if you’ve ever owned a pair of Born shoes, then you know the joy I felt when I found them, the only pair left at Marshall’s, for only $30.

I about did a happy dance and shouted “SUCK IT! THEY’RE MINE!” as I walked through the store showing them to everyone.

I thought these would be the sandals for me–the ones to go to the zoo and the playground and the grocery store and everything all summer long (I’m totally over flip-flops, aren’t you), and they actually make my ankles looks skinny and they go with everything and I’m just in love with them.

Or at least I was in love with them.

As it turns out, they’re really Satan’s Sandals.

The first time I wore them, they were totally fine.

The second time I wore them they seemed to have sprung some sort of a leak because they started making a poofy sound when I walk.

You know what I mean, right?

It’s like, “step POOF! step POOF! step POOF!”

It’s like I’m farting with every step.

So that’s kind of annoying, right? But whatever. I can deal with it because they look good.

So I wear them yesterday and now the non-poofy shoe has developed a creak and now when I walk it’s “creak, POOF! creak, POOF! creak, POOF!”

Okay, well that sucks, but still. If I go somewhere noisy, nobody will notice.

But then, Queefies, I noticed that they gave my baby toes redness and hurtyness and THAT IS THE LAST STRAW!

Fuck these fucking shoes.

Hurt and humiliation are not what I look for in a sandal.

I can’t even return them because it’s Marshall’s, and I threw all the stuff away already. So now I guess it’ll have to be “step, creak, POOF! OW!, step, creak, POOF! OW!”

Nice.

And don’t even get me started on the frustration of having to find sandals for Girlfriend. We’ve been to five stores and endured countless diva-style try-ons where Girlfriend either refuses to try them on, or she puts them on and kicks them across the store because she hates them and can I ask you something, Queefies?  WHY ARE THEY MAKING HIGH HEELED SANDALS FOR FIVE-YEAR-OLDS?

Don’t little kids run anymore? I want a pair of cushiony flat sandals that my kid can run in without having them fall off or twist her ankle, and I mayn’t have them. They don’t make that kind, and if they do, they don’t make them in a size 12.

I tried to get her a pair of sneakers. She wants Skechers that light up when she walks. That seems simple enough, right? Nay, nay. I spent approximately three hours of library time trying to find some fucking light-up Skechers for under $50. The good citizens of Schmuckytown will weep when they hear about this. I finally found them at Sears.com, and so after verifying with several different sites that this particular style does, in fact, light up, I ordered them. They arrived yesterday and guess what? They sent the wrong fucking shoes. These don’t fucking light up.

So I have to go kick some ass at Sears today.

Those Fucktards.

DON’T THEY KNOW WHO I AM???

Do you think I should play the blogger card on them? Should I be all “I write a hugely popular blog (it’s okay to lie a little bit when you’re being an irate customer) and I think the Internet would be very interested to know that Sears cannot get their shit together enough to send the correct thing, and to make it up to me you need to refund the shipping costs and give me a free lawnmower.”

They don’t need to know that I already told the Internet about the epic asshattery. Shhhhh!

So yes. I feel like I’m in that movie where people buy the things they’ve always wanted and then it turns out that the thing is infused with evil.

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