Saks on Wilshire

I went to Saks on Wilshire today.  The idea was for Vince and I to shop for shoes.  Instead we each found a bowl full of creepy.

How could so many shoes look so much alike and all cost more than a healthy man’s liver and $500 cash?  Ok, I get it: suede is more important than I could know and penny loafers have a consequence in our culture that I’ve severely underestimated.  But here was a carefully curated display of dozens and dozens of shoes that were neither manly nor clever nor functional nor believable.  I actually could not find the way to accept that this collection had been curated with sound mind and body.

And then there was the sales team.  Who knew that being looked after could feel so creepy?

I know they knew I wouldn’t be spending a lost thought there but that didn’t stop them from hovering over me like a bad cold.  When we left, the mother ship breathed a clean sigh of relief at our necessary departure.  Temporary inconvenience aside, things could go back to normal.  Did you see the Pirates of the Caribbean movies where the shell slaves on Davy Jones ship were mollusked into the walls?  Yeah, like that probably.  I bet you anything that’s exactly what happened with them when we left.

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