Author's Note: this was originally written in 1995 while I was a freshman in high school.
I recently undertook the monumental task of buying dress shoes. No, I'm not insane, at least not enough to want to buy uncomfortable shoes with concrete for padding. I was forced into the decision by the simple fact that my parents made me. I had no say in this decision. I never do. Not with dress shoes. (Any other piece of clothing is another matter. I wear what I like and that's it.)
Unfortunately my parents think that during church on Sunday one should be wearing ill-fitting, black or brown leather instruments of torture disguised as shoes. Their reasoning for this is not clear, although I think it may have something to do with the uncanny ability of cramping foot muscles to keep one awake through the entire service. Of course the wearing of such foot adornments is of little consequence when compared with the actual buying of the shoes. The whole matter of buying anything (besides electronics, water guns and brightly colored ties) detests me. This aversion to shopping is increased by the fact that time passes differently in shoe stores. I'm not sure what causes this phenomenon, but its effects are clear. When one walks into such a store more time passes for them than for the rest of the world. A person can walk in at 4:30pm, spend 45 minutes and leave at 4:50pm. This, in theory, sounds like a good deal. You end up getting more time than you should have. There is a problem, however. The only time you got was spent looking for shoes! To try and counter the negative aspects of the purchasing process, I decided to be very picky about which shoes I got. First, I decided that the color brown was out. I don't care what anyone says, I won't wear anything brown on my feet. Second, I didn't want anything that I had to polish every week. If I ever get anything that needs that much maintenance to keep a shine, it's going to be a sports car.
After I found some decent footgear, I decided that as bad as shopping for dress shoes is, it could be worse. Shoe stores could combine with restaurants. The main dish, fillet of sole. Ow, foot cramp!
-Mixed Metaphor
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