Herp’s Curse

When my mother and her younger sister were young women, living at home to help care for their invalid mother, the family had a housekeeper named Mrs. Herp. There are no photos of Mrs. Herp, but I envision her as a solid “traditionally built” woman (as Alexander McCall Smith might say!). In my mind, her hair is rather austerely pulled back from her face with a middle part, and she wears a housedress, apron and sensible shoes.

Mrs. Herp always complained about her feet. I’m not sure why – bunions? Heel spurs? Ingrown toenails?

The reason is secondary. The point is, my mom and Gracie would tease her. “Oh, Mrs. Herp – you can’t possibly have feet that hurt that much!” (Ah, the callow youth, still able to wear heels and look rather snappy, clicking along the city streets.)
Apparently they harangued her so much, that one day, Mrs. Herp said, “You just wait. One day, you and yours will have feet as bad as mine!
They laughed. And years later, they, too, had what came to be known as “Herp’s Curse.” Mom had bunions, ingrown toenails and who knows what else.

And, then I came along.

Corrective shoes when I was in elementary school. All my friends had cute little shoes. I had big, brown oxfords. Huge white saddle shoes. Metal plates inside. Jump rope was hell.

I had to go to a shoe store downtown. Shepherd’s Shoes, the only one carrying corrective shoes. At each visit, I would see Glenn Sine. Apparently, he was the only fellow in town who knew how to fit bad feet.

In college, my feet became so badly injured walking to and from class, I was taken to a podiatrist from China. (Years later, as I was walking my post-surgical route to the bus, I passed by that office everyday!). He bound my feet. I can’t say it helped. It did, however, increase my empathy for those in China who endured this as children.

I’ve had plantar fasciatis. Heel spurs. Fallen arches. Callouses. Some weird thing with the big toe that forces me to cut it in the shape of a “V” so it doesn’t hurt (as much). If it wasn’t for the pedorthist I wonder if I’d walk at all.

(I'm sorry -- that's a gross photo.)

Needless to say, I hate buying shoes. I’ll never have Jimmy Choos. Imelda Marcos or Carrie Bradshaw and I would have little in common. Probably 355 days out of 365, I’m in my tennies with orthotics.

Which brings me to this weekend.

With the Paris trip a week away, I knew I needed shoes (and accessories) that could withstand walking miles a day, standing in galleries and walking again – and then let me do it all again the next day, and the day after that. These would never do!The accessories were easy. Gel tubes for the calloused toes, moleskin for the more vulnerable areas.

The shoes were another thing altogether. While my orthotics fit my little brown shoes, they're not great for all-day.

And I will take my sandals, but again, they won't withstand the 10-hour test.

One of the things I’m most looking forward to in Paris is going to a flea market with Tara (aka Paris Parfait). I asked her about clothing and shoes and her words were clear. Good walking shoes, even sneakers. But not white. Definitely not white. “Seriously, the French hate white sneakers - they consider them the tackiest of the tacky - and won't treat you so well, if you're wearing them," she warned.

Well, scratch new tennies. I’m looking for not-white shoes that my orthotics will fit that will last me for hours on the street.

And they won’t be pretty.

Now, my tennie faves for my pronated feet are Brooks Addiction. They live lifetimes on my feet (and look it after about eight months or so!)

So, when I went looking, I stopped first at this display, and – could it be? They had Brooks Addiction in black leather. I’m not talking about fashionable black leather, but I’m talking about not-white!

The lovely woman who helped me dutifully waited while I placed my orthotics inside and efficiently laced and tied them tight. I stood and walked about, stopping by the small mirror showcasing one’s feet.

They look like the shoes I wore in fourth grade. Only black. They look like shoes a nun would wear. Not a hip nun, but a very conservative, traditional nun who had to be on her feet all day. They reminded me of “Good Morning, Miss Dove,” which will resonate with you only if you are a serious movie buff or over the age of 55 or 60.

I took them.

Rick said they were ugly. (He may have said frumpy, or some other term. He meant ugly.)

Kate was more tactful. But I knew what she meant.

But they feel good. Very good (at least in the first day). And under pants, who’ll know? (OK, I’m going to the most fashionable city in the world, but trust me, no one is going to pay any attention to me; it wouldn’t matter if I was barefoot.)

Take that, Mrs. Herp. I will triumph over the “curse” you put on our house. Or at least have a darned good time trying!

(Note: Photos of pretty shoes with big heels are from Nordstrom's...Photos of shoes that aren't so pretty are from the Marmelade Gypsy Collection of Sensible Shoes.)