Natasha Fondren

I am not a shoe person, not like her. I’m a movie person, a book person, and a save-for-a-rainy-day person. My husband is not very like me in this regard. He buys clothes and shoes and stuff.

Me?

Not so much. Glenn is constantly sighing and going, “You need new pants.” “You need some shirts.” “You need new shoes.”

When we first met, a few months into our relationship, he took me clothes shopping. I thought he was trying to get brownie points, but I later learned that he was less than impressed with my wardrobe.

So it came to be, a couple months back, that I brought a pair of shoes to donate to my volunteering gig. They were appropriated one place, but as I was holding them, someone asked me for them. He pointed to his shoes, and explained why he needed new ones.

In looking at his shoes, I realized mine were ten times worse. We’re talking flapping soles, worn edges, frayed, loose threads. I was speechless. I kept thinking how weird and ironic this situation was.

The shoes were appropriated elsewhere, and given that I was still struck speechless, I gave up trying to make a joke and gave him a hug. I wasn’t quite sure if he laughed at me because I hugged him or because he saw my shoes and thought it was funny, too.

But I finally bought a new pair of shoes. “Barefoot” shoes. Designed to leave your foot free to develop the muscles God put in your feet.

Since several Facebook friends asked for picture, here they are. What do you think? Weird, huh?

Yeah, I know. Style really isn’t my thing.