My husband hit the jackpot when he married me. Not because I’m a knockout (I’m not), and not because I can cook (I can’t). And certainly not because I need to keep up with the Joneses (that’s a race that never ends).

The reason he hit the jackpot is because I’m extremely low-maintenance. I’m a no-frills, simple girl who doesn’t need to have all the latest designer fashions, jewelry or expensive home interiors.

Which is why it makes no sense to me that it took three weeks, hours of online searching and nine stores to find a simple pair of black shoes. The kind of simple shoe that kindergartners would draw when asked to draw a shoe. The process shouldn’t have been so hard, it wasn’t fair and I’ve begun to think there’s a conspiracy against me.

It starts out with the day I discovered the heel separating from the right shoe of a pair that I loved. The shoe went from perfectly normal to crap in about a week. I can’t understand why.my_right_foot Both my legs are the same length, I do not have a limp, and I never ran the New York Marathon in them. Its partner is just fine. Righty has issues.

Just when I thought I should enter it into Ripley’s Believe It or Not as the Freak Shoe of a Freak-Footed Woman, I was relieved to read I’m not the only one with inexplicable clothing disintegration issues. My friend Jeff has a peculiar problem with wearing out only the left knee of his jeans. We are two peas in a pod. Abnormal, anatomically-disadvantaged peas in a pod.

Soon after my shoe started falling apart, I began my search for a replacement pair. Naturally, I thought I could just go online: Punch in Croft & Barrow. Click. Add to Cart. Click. Done. Then I remembered nothing is that easy for me. Not furniture or lamp or cake shopping. What made me think shoe shopping would be any different?

I’m not a total moron. I understand that shoe styles change from year to year, and that if you find a pair you really love, you should buy every single one in the store. Otherwise, you’ll never find them again. I’ve done that in the past with other shoes, but never in my wildest nightmares did I imagine I’d have such trouble finding a pair of plain black, lace-up shoes with a rubber sole. The store I bought them from doesn’t carry this style anymore. Shame on you, Kohl’s. You sold me a shoe I loved and then you took it away.

Here’s my opinion about the state of shoes today. Stores should always carry a base supply of regular shoes that have no buckles, snaps, clasps or adornment of any kind. After that, designers are perfectly welcome to go ahead, take their LSD and make shoes like these. When I did a general online search for "black lace-up shoes," these were among the selections:image 

I did not type in Frankenstein, Dominatrix or Elton John. I typed black, lace-up shoes. Period. I fast ran out of patience browsing the 1,001 ridiculous ones and concluded it was unwise to order unfamiliar shoes online anyway. I wear shoes between a size 7 1/2 and 9, depending on the brand. It was best to try them on.

The week before Christmas, I stopped and browsed at six different shoe or department stores. Nothing. I would come home each night shoeless, and Dave would give me a "You’ll do better tomorrow" hug and hope a simple black shoe would magically make itself known to me.

After four days of striking out, I awoke one morning to find Dave had left this note for me on the fridge. Funny guy.

shoelessI gave up searching for a while, then the day after New Year’s, we traveled around town hitting up all the stores I hadn’t been to before. I thought I’d get lucky at a new upscale outdoor mall nearby. According to their website, they had ten shoe stores. Ten! This HAD to be the place.

I hit up L.L. Bean first and thought I had a winner. I picked out a black, lace-up shoe I marginally liked, and stood there waiting for a sales person to help me. At least three other women stood around with a single shoe in their hands waiting for someone to assist them, too.  I could see never getting waited on, so I gave up and put the shoe back on the shelf. Strike one.

We sought out the rest of the stores at the mall. Turns out, of the nine remaining stores, one sold only sneakers, one was a men’s store, three weren’t even in business yet and the other four only sold dress shoes. I hate you, 10-shoe-store mall! Strike two.

We soldiered on to the one remaining place to get shoes: a crowded, high-traffic mall that I never shop at unless I’m desperate. I hit up a JC Penney’s first and while perusing their selections, I overheard a woman complaining to a salesman: "I bought my favorite pair here last year, and you keep changing the styles. I can’t find them anywhere now!" I turned around to her and said "It’s a conspiracy." The salesman, wearing a pair of nice, plain black shoes, looked at us weird and offered up nothing. We ladies just shook our heads and walked away. Strike three. I’m out.

Wait…. maybe not.

There was one other department store in the mall I hadn’t checked — Boscov’s. This time, Dave didn’t come into the store with me, since he was tiring of our strike-outs. Better to just sit in the car, avoid my madness, and pray to himself that when I emerge from the store, I would be carrying a bounty of shoe boxes and we could get on with our lives, full to the brim with simple black shoes.

I hit a home run. Right out of the park!

imageBoscov’s had a simple black pair of shoes I loved. Not even lace-up! I almost kissed the salesman when he brought me this pair of shoes and they fit perfectly! Hello, Clark’s "Music"! My only disappointment was that they had just one pair in my size. No matter. I can order more from them online, knowing the brand and size. My prayers were finally answered.

I’ve just ordered two extra pairs, and as long as my feet don’t suddenly get fat, I’m golden. I’ll be in plain black shoes for years to come. Like everything else in my shopping life, this was an ordeal that tells me I’m being punished for something. I just don’t know for what.

Imagine if I was high-maintenance……

Stumble it!