New Work Shoes and My Mother’s Attempts to Inception OCD into My Daughter

I showed up at Halawa for our softball game yesterday only to find out that the other team had forfeited earlier in the week. Due to a mistake made by one of the men running the league, our team was informed we had to show up with at least 9 players in order to avoid a “double forfeit.” Obviously, since the other team called it in before Sunday, it shouldn’t have mattered, but there we were anyway. Lynnette and Madison were already out, secretly shopping for a birthday gift for me. We met at my parents house at noon, had a bunch of chili and mac salad, and watched the beginning of Wrestlemania XXX. That’s a solid Sunday.

Don't think we don't know what you're trying to do, mom.

Don’t think we don’t know what you’re trying to do, mom.

Just as the battle royal began, my mom turned to me and asked, “Do you need shoes?” “Um…okay,” I said. “No! Do you need work shoes?” she asked. Yes. Yes, I did. “We’re out of ideas for a gift for you, so will that do?” Of course it would. My parents also did a similar thing for me the last time I needed work shoes. I’ve worn the same two pairs (same model, one black, one brown) for the past three years or so – maybe longer, time passes much to quickly. We went to Clark’s and I found two new replacement pairs.

Madison wandered around the store dusting things. My mom and dad presented Madison with a wrapped birthday gift before we left their house. “For Tuesday!” my mom said. “Okay, okay,” Mad said. “But you can open this now,” she said, handing Madison what my daughter has since named a “Hedgehog Swiffer.” This is textbook Karen Higa. She’s trying to turn Madison into a clean freak. Hey, mom, check out Madison’s room. Good luck with that.

Look, I wear dress pants during the day and baseball pants in the afternoons. If nothing else, now you know why Madison is so fair.

Look, I wear dress pants during the day and baseball pants in the afternoons. If nothing else, now you know why Madison is so fair.

"Let me just scrape off all of the li hing powder and eat that and the mochi balls only."

“Let me just scrape off all of the li hing powder and eat that and the mochi balls only.”

After we got the shoes, we headed down to Magic Mountain Shave Ice for dessert. As we stood in line, Lynnette noticed there was actually a flavor named “Magic Mountain.” “What is Magic Mountain?” she asked. Madison answered her. “Well, Magic Mountain is when you have a mountain with snow on top of it melts into ice and then they turn that into shave ice, and it’s soooooo cold.” Well, then. I looked at the sign again and noticed another flavor called “Mystery.” “What’s a bigger mystery? Magic Mountain or a flavor actually called ‘Mystery?'” I asked. No one answered. My girls just don’t care for philosophical conversation.

As we sat on the low curb near the shave ice stand, I broke my phone out to watch some Wrestlemania. “Geez!” Lynnette said when she spied me intently staring at John Cena and Bray Wyatt fighting on my thigh. Luckily, we made it home for the Undertaker/Brock Lesnar match and the Bautista/Orton/Bryan main event. All I have to say is thank God I don’t have a softball game tonight so I’ll be able to watch Raw after practice.

Welcome, you two, to my incredible footwear collection.

Welcome, you two, to my incredible footwear collection.

Goodbye to you.

Goodbye to you.

I have to admit that getting new work shoes are like a disqualification or count-out finish in a WWE championship match: yeah, it’s a win, but not really. Anyway, these are the new pairs of work shoes I picked out. They weren’t my first choice, but I have a weird foot shape. I have wide feet with short toes, so the problem is that 10.5 is too narrow, but most of the time, an 11 is too long. As a result, if I wear the 11, eventually, the front ends of the shoes will start curling upwards like the Iron Sheik’s. As such, I had to try on a bunch of 10.5s and 11s to find one black pair and one brown pair that would be wide enough to be comfortable, but short enough to prevent me from looking like Sideshow Bob. These are they. Thanks mom and dad, for three more years of professional comfort!

Well, you know what this means. I’d like to take this moment to thank my old pairs of dress shoes for the countless days of service; the walking up and down the stairs; the pacing in the front of the classroom; the kicking desks around, being tossed into the trunk of the car; getting run over by cars in the garage; etc. You were comfortable, which is the highest compliment I can give a shoe. Ahem.

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