So I am walking back with said candy from said deli and I see this very stylish young woman at the crosswalk. She has on a really cute outfit: black and white houndstooth pencil skirt (looked like lightweight wool) and a pretty white cotton lace blouse with cap sleeves that buttoned up the back. I was standing there thinking to myself that I probably would never have put those two pieces together, since one seemed fallish and the other decidely more casual and for warmer weather. But they really worked together and I was impressed. While waiting for the green man to give me the okay to enter the crosswalk, I stood there daydreaming about what pieces in my wardrobe fit these categories that I should try together when I got home.
Then it happened. I looked down. And there they were. The cutest shoes in that subtle dove gray I've been pining after for a while now.
I followed her into my building, then into the elevator trying to note each detail so that I could google (yes, a verb) them as soon as I returned to my desk. Within minutes I discovered that they are Steve Madden and that every retail outlet I could think of was sold out. I did, however, find a vendor on eBay selling a new pair in a 7.5 (my size, sometimes). This is where the accidental part comes in.
See, this vendor was selling the shoes, not listing them in an auction. Two buttons stood next to the picture: "buy now" and "make and offer". This seemed cool--I could suggest a price. Never encountered this on eBay before. The shoes were listed for $69 which seemed like a fair price. I checked to make sure I could return them if they didn't fit. I decided to click the "make an offer" button. I thought, "How about $49?" then I read the note that suggested I make an offer that seemed "fair" to both the seller and me. I softened and entered $59 and hit enter. The screen immediately lit up congratulating me on my purchase, my offer was accepted and I was now the proud owner of these shoes that may or may not fit. Lucky me. I naively thought the seller would have to think about it and get back to me or something. It never occurred to me that the seller could set an authomatic threshold. Silly me.
Actually, I am happy about it. If they don't fit, I can return them. They are really cute, even if I don't need them and am having a hard time thinking of something I have that I can wear with them. But I am sure it will work out in the end.
The moral of this story? Go to the vending machine in the basement when you need sugar. And next time, lo-ball those offers.
2 comments:
LOVE it! I plan to execute an Oscar-winning performance over the ill fit of those $179 "wedding shoes." No time in my life have I spent that much on shoes (the closest was $112 for a pair of (yes) super fab black velvet d'orsay open-toe platforms with ankle ties that can be worn 7 ways to Sunday for my 10-year HS reunion) and even though some would argue that a wedding is a singular day of decadence, I see it as a silly extravagance. It was peer pressure, I swear! I will whine and act truly disappointed in the Alfred Angelo store, and unless I somehow abandon my steely resolve, will find something just as bueno for mucho less dinero.
Looking forward to hearing how your accidental shoes work! If they do, they will henceforth be referred to as such. Ah, 'as such' reminds me of the dear Pat. :)
Those are sooooo cute! Very Marcy...a happy accident for sure!
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