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Selling Your Sole

There are words that can strike terror into the hearts of even the most hardened men, such as ‘Vasectomy’and ‘Dry Day’. But the deadliest phrase ever has got to be ‘Shoe Shopping’.

Legend has it that this vile practice began sometime during the Stone Age, when a primitive female frantically gestured towards an approaching crocodile. The male gallantly strode forward, and returned proudly with the slain beast slung across his shoulders. “That should make our bed rock tonight”, he thought, expecting his Lady Love to yield to the masculinity that had just saved her from a deadly predator. Instead, she nonchalantly heaved the beast off his shoulders (those ancient women were strong), and dashed off to the local mochi because word had reached her from a place called Milan, that crocodile skin shoes were in. Men have despised women’s shoes ever since.

Cut to the present. I don’t really have an an aversion towards shoe shopping. In fact, it ranks quite high on my to-do list, right between indulging in illegal acts with a rhino, and watching Esha Deol movies on a loop. But when that special someone, her eyes widened to the size of flying saucers, beseeches you to accompany her on a shoe-shopping spree, refusal is not an option (your compliance at this point also reduces the risk of being whacked with her new shoes at some later time).

Under such circumstances, I was led to a shoe store of the female variety. I say ‘female variety’ because these are markedly different from men’s stores, where you walk in and mutter ‘Size 10, black’ and walk out with a pair in 20 minutes. Compare this with the phenomenon I was just about to experience.

Calm and deceptive on the oustide, the store interior resembled a Kurla platform in heat. Ok so maybe the crowd was slightly better, but the 2 sq. inches of standing space available made observation a difficult task. Even so, looking around at the horde of haggling women, I was overcome by Ashish Epiphany No. 342 (Previous Ashish Epiphanies have revealed to me the Purpose of Life, the Key to Happiness and the answer to ‘Hum Chlor Mint Kyun Khaate Hain?’). It’s quite simple really. Women like shoes, because women *are* like shoes.

Think about it. Like women, shoes come in all shapes and sizes, and can be classified into categories like kiddos, auntyjis, behenjis, slutty, beautiful and ugly (Before you feminists come charging at me, I’d like to say that it was a woman who supplied this reasoning. Go charge at her if you want. I’ll give you the address).

After this revelation, I actually began to enjoy the whole process. The shoes look like they’ve been designed to cause arthritis, while making the wearer feel extremely sexy. It’s quite amusing to watch women squeal over such monstrosities. In fact, if someone held a gun to my head, I’d happily go shoe shopping again.

To the guys who think I’ve gone soft, and are questioning the whereabouts of my balls, I’d just like to say that my balls are right where they’re supposed to be. Somewhere in my girlfriend’s shopping bags.

– Ashish Shakya

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