The old ones were perfect, perfect, perfect. Like old friends. But a decade of love couldn't save the disintegrating soles - even the cobbler wouldn't touch them.
And so with a growing level of trepidation, mixed with a weird sense of hope that I'd find something that fit, I walked into REI with my gift certificates in hand. I apologized ahead of time that I was a hard fit, and still they smiled. Yes sir, I tried on almost every pair in their inventory, in a variety of sizes and widths, with multiple socks of different thicknesses, and there I was sitting amongst a mountain of boxes demonstrating to the entire world that I had officially become a Princess. (WHERE ARE THE SHOES THAT FEEL GOOD??! For that matter, where are the clothes that make me look good? It seems to be a common theme these days, and I'm sure it has NOTHING to do with my age...)
No comfort. No boots. It was a sad moment.
And then the third staffer showed up. She had just the ticket.
I am now the proud owner of a new pair of Salomons. They are wonderful and comfortable and breaking in nicely and stable as all get-out. AND they are hot pink.