In her shoes...

I usually try very hard to practice restraint when I feel tempted to ask a random stranger from where they got their oh-so-interesting clothes/widget/new hair weave. Surely, they're entitled to keep lock of their secrets on looking great and I should really just enjoy the unique style of others through mere observation anyway.

But I couldn't resist an aching urge today and took in a quick, deep breath before anxiously tapping a lady on the shoulder at a local Subway. "Ma'am, I have a bit of a crush on your clogs..." I started. "And if you don't tell me where you got them, I'll obsess over them for the rest of the day. " I talked fast then smiled a sweet, charming smile and was careful to cover my hideous braces.

"What, these little 'ol things?" she said with a slightly higher pitch at the end of her sentence. She turned in her ankle just so and glanced down past the low hanging rear pocket of her light blue mom-jeans to admire them too. "Every department store sells clogs. You can pretty much get 'em anywhere."

"But no... those ones are blue-red patent leather. And they're shiny and have good, tight stitching." I was trying to be convincing, and talked a little faster, "See how the heel is slightly elevated and oval shaped? That's hard to find." Suddenly my rationalization was psycho babble and I became Dustin Hoffman from Rainman. Or developed ADHD.

She began to look at me tensely and moved closer to the counter. I smiled and silently admired her clogs once more before finally turning my eyes away. Damn my inner shoe stalker, I've said too much.