Since it was a Thursday afternoon, it wasn't very busy, so I had lots of space and uninterrupted time to look around. I tried on clogs, I tried on boots and I tried on Dansko sandals, which felt like boxes. (Which is sad, because my hairstylist has some and they look cute on her little feet.)
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While in the comfort shoe area, an older gentleman shoe salesperson came and asked if I needed help. I did, but what is the proper etiquette with that? I worried briefly about switiching salespeople, but then remembered my goal and pushed my worries aside. I showed him some of the shoes that I wanted to try on and furtively avoided looking at the salesgirl that just helped me.
I wish I had gotten the saleman's name, but I didn't, so I'll call him Francois. He was bossy and I think he was French or Italian, but he knew how to sell a shoe and I liked his honesty. He almost wouldn't let me try on the Merrill clogs that I showed him. He said,"They are for, eh, you know, going to the grocery store. Eh, they are not for you." But I insisted. I put them on and they looked like I could start clogging at any moment and burst into song about milkmaids and cows. (Strangely, they don't look like that on my Mom's feet. Her feet are so long and narrow that they just look like boots or something.)
Anyhoodles, Francois encouraged me to get these Munro boots in brown.
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