Dear Easy Spirit "Hulat" in brown (size 8),
On the outside, I was not excited to purchase you. Easy Spirits? Come on. Didn't my grandma wear those? My nurse aunt? On the inside, I was secretly jumping for (well-cushioned) joy. I am 30 now, after all, and should be allowed to wear comfortable shoes. I can forego the age old adage I used to live by - *Fashion Before Comfort*, in lieu of shoes that don't make me shrivel into a whimpering ball of girl upon arriving home and tearing the torturous monsters from my feet. I no longer have to cringe with every step. This is my god-given right as a 30-year-old-dare-I-say-woman, who has suffered through years and years of squeezing my poor size 8's into smaller sizes and crippling high heels. Right? Right.
You were easy on the wallet ($19.99 at Marshall's), which I can definitely appreciate during these tough financial times. And you are also surprisingly easy on the bunions, which (despite the connotations of buying Easy Spirits should imply) I did not entirely expect. For this, I thank you.
However. I must say, you are not so easy on the heels. My poor heels, which started out the day soft, white and supple, are no more. They are in pain. They are red. They are sore. They are currently wearing the spare pair of shoes I keep under my desk in case of emergencies such as this.
Furthermore, you are not exactly easy on the ears either, announcing my presence as you squeak your way up and down the halls of my building. I admit, on occasion I have been known to appreciate some measure of attention - in the right situations, of course. I do not though, like to call attention to myself through noisy footwear. I'm sure you understand.
That being said, I would have to say that you are not Easy on my Spirit. Such a shame. I had such high hopes.
Sincerely,
My Feet
Note*** Out of consideration for my readers, I have refrained from posting the picture of my red and mangled heels.
On the outside, I was not excited to purchase you. Easy Spirits? Come on. Didn't my grandma wear those? My nurse aunt? On the inside, I was secretly jumping for (well-cushioned) joy. I am 30 now, after all, and should be allowed to wear comfortable shoes. I can forego the age old adage I used to live by - *Fashion Before Comfort*, in lieu of shoes that don't make me shrivel into a whimpering ball of girl upon arriving home and tearing the torturous monsters from my feet. I no longer have to cringe with every step. This is my god-given right as a 30-year-old-dare-I-say-woman, who has suffered through years and years of squeezing my poor size 8's into smaller sizes and crippling high heels. Right? Right.
You were easy on the wallet ($19.99 at Marshall's), which I can definitely appreciate during these tough financial times. And you are also surprisingly easy on the bunions, which (despite the connotations of buying Easy Spirits should imply) I did not entirely expect. For this, I thank you.
However. I must say, you are not so easy on the heels. My poor heels, which started out the day soft, white and supple, are no more. They are in pain. They are red. They are sore. They are currently wearing the spare pair of shoes I keep under my desk in case of emergencies such as this.
Furthermore, you are not exactly easy on the ears either, announcing my presence as you squeak your way up and down the halls of my building. I admit, on occasion I have been known to appreciate some measure of attention - in the right situations, of course. I do not though, like to call attention to myself through noisy footwear. I'm sure you understand.
That being said, I would have to say that you are not Easy on my Spirit. Such a shame. I had such high hopes.
Sincerely,
My Feet
Note*** Out of consideration for my readers, I have refrained from posting the picture of my red and mangled heels.
