The Ugly Stepsister
I've mentioned one or two or four hundred times that fitting shoes for Little E is challenging.
It's not just that his feet are wide, but they have about an inch of fat padding on top of them.
For the record, I wear an 11N, so you just know this wonderful genetic trait is courtesy of the Mr. Yoy gene pool.
Right before summer, I ordered Little E a pair of Stride Rite sandals. They aren't wides or even extra wides. They are extra, extra wides and guess what, they are too dang tight.
They leave imprints across the tops of Little E's feet when he wears them for extended periods of time.
I give him the choice of which shoes he wants to wear each morning, the XXW sandals or his sneakers. He always chooses the sneakers. Even when it was 100+ degrees here in the ATL and everyone was fixin' (see, I'm almost native) to burst into flames.
He'd rather wrap his little sausage feet in blankets and then shove them into unventilated shoes then wear his XXW sandals.
I feel bad. I know he is hot.
So, I ordered him a pair of Crocs off the internet last week. They looked wider and are riddles with bullet holes, so I thought they might work. They arrived today.
The only way I can describe the scene of me, and then Little E, trying to squeeze those suckers on, would be when the ugly stepsisters were jamming their feet into the glass slipper. It just wasn't going to happen. Ever.
Little E was so disappointed. As I placed the shoes back in their box, Little E circled around me shouting SHOES SHOES SHOES.
Sorry, buddy, your feet need to go on a diet ASAP.
Until then, it'll be your sneakers. Every day. Until the end of time.
It's not just that his feet are wide, but they have about an inch of fat padding on top of them.
For the record, I wear an 11N, so you just know this wonderful genetic trait is courtesy of the Mr. Yoy gene pool.
Right before summer, I ordered Little E a pair of Stride Rite sandals. They aren't wides or even extra wides. They are extra, extra wides and guess what, they are too dang tight.
They leave imprints across the tops of Little E's feet when he wears them for extended periods of time.
I give him the choice of which shoes he wants to wear each morning, the XXW sandals or his sneakers. He always chooses the sneakers. Even when it was 100+ degrees here in the ATL and everyone was fixin' (see, I'm almost native) to burst into flames.
He'd rather wrap his little sausage feet in blankets and then shove them into unventilated shoes then wear his XXW sandals.
I feel bad. I know he is hot.
So, I ordered him a pair of Crocs off the internet last week. They looked wider and are riddles with bullet holes, so I thought they might work. They arrived today.
The only way I can describe the scene of me, and then Little E, trying to squeeze those suckers on, would be when the ugly stepsisters were jamming their feet into the glass slipper. It just wasn't going to happen. Ever.
Little E was so disappointed. As I placed the shoes back in their box, Little E circled around me shouting SHOES SHOES SHOES.
Sorry, buddy, your feet need to go on a diet ASAP.
Until then, it'll be your sneakers. Every day. Until the end of time.
This is not an exaggeration.
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