A woman and her shoes

Last week, one of the VPs came to us with an odd question.

"What size shoe do you ladies wear."

Boss Lady and I exchanged a look and then I said...

"Whyyyyy??" (severe elevation of tone at the end of that one word question)

Blushing, he replied, "Well, I have to take a woman from [Merger Company] to a site visit and safety rules require that she wear hard soled shoes. She didn't bring any with her and I was hoping you might wear the same size."

Men don't get women and shoes. They don't get the fact that most women would NEVER loan out their shoes. Even ugly hard sole hiking shoes. They are OUR SHOES you know?? Also - asking a woman her shoe size - unless she is a perfect sample size 7 or smaller is like asking her weight or her age. Who's f-ing business is that anyway???

But, ever helpful Wenderina took a breath and proclaimed proudly, "I'm a 9...well maybe a 9 1/2. Ok....mostly I'm a 10." (and not in a Bo Derek kind of way).

"Good - she's a 9...that should work...can you bring in some shoes."

Well now I'm boxed in. Boss Lady had raised eyebrows and I could hear her projecting into my mind - "You got yourself into this....you get yourself out."

Needless to say, I didn't get myself out of it. So I came home, dug out my hard-soled hiking boots and realized they were dusty and grimy. I cleaned them and since they were a little damp put them out in the sun to dry.

This was a fine plan, until I went to sleep Saturday night and awoke to a Monsoon on Sunday. I grabbed the shoes and dried them with a towel and left them to dry....again. By Monday morning - the day of delivery - they were still damp but I determined leaving them in the car on a hot sunny day would quickly finish the drying job.

I reported to the VP I had, in fact, managed to remember the shoes and we could transfer them to his car later that day.

(you just know there's a kicker to this story right....oops no pun intended)

When I went out to my car later that day I opened the door and WHOA NELLY...I was knocked over by a noxious odor. I opened the bag with the shoes and took one out - it seemed fine....then I took the other out....

HOLY CRAP....or HOLY PISS is more like it.

Something had pissed in my shoe.

I debated about how to get out of this rather embarrassing situation. I had already reported I brought the shoes in. So - honesty was the policy of choice.

After relating my story, VP said, "Um...ok...I guess I'm going to Payless."

Why didn't I suggest that in the beginning? I don't know. But since he got ME to bring in my shoes...I said, "Since she's only wearing them once, you can bring them in and I'll take them when she's done."

A woman and her shoes, you know?

Disconnect

I always knew my VP operated on a different plain that I do - especially in his private life - living in Manhattan by Central Park, traveling internationally constantly (winter trips to ski in Vail, mid-winter fishing in Patagonia, Christmas in The Hague, Summer in the Hamptons), but today I got my confirmation that it might actually be a different PLANET.

White tablecloth dining only in VP's world.

VP: "Hey - there are lots of leftovers from my lunch meeting if anyone wants something."

Admin: "Oh great, I haven't been able to get out for anything - what was the lunch?"


VP: "Sandwiches and things."


Admin: "From the regular deli?"


VP: "No, from some other place I never heard of - Quoo-Zee-Nos?"


Admin: "Um...do you mean Quiznos?"


VP: "Yeah, that might be it. Ever heard of it?"

Admin: (laughing) "Obviously you don't dine in the slums with the rest of us."

Fine dining for the "little people".