Shoe love

Sometimes, in the vast Sidewalk Sale of our lives as consumers, we hit upon exactly the right purchase. Just what we needed. The ideal fit. The handiest little gizmo. Don't know how we ever got along without one.

These products enrich our lives, each one a bright spot in the gloomy accumulation of items that disappoint or break or never fit quite right.

Often, these perfect products come from the clothing aisles. People get downright fetishistic about certain garments or shoes. (Like one woman, who found the ideal high heel, then went out and bought two more pairs of the exact same shoe because the model had been discontinued, not that I'm naming any names.)

Even fashion-free guys -- slobs who always look like they just rolled out of bed, on fire -- have favorite T-shirts or old sneakers they can't bear to throw away.

My latest favorite is a simple black shoe, plain to the point of invisibility. It's the perfect shoe for me, and I'm delighted that I stumbled onto it, so to speak.

Oh, I've had favorites before. Sneakers, mostly, the occasional boat shoe. Casual, you know? Maybe a dressy loafer for a night on the town. But I never fell in love. Kept my shoes at a distance. Easy come, easy go.

I told myself I didn't even care about shoes anymore. My middle-aged feet are wide at the front and narrow at the heel, like the feet of a large duck. Nothing fits right. I'd quit looking. Wear the ones that pinch, what's a little more suffering?

Then I met this shoe. The new pair that's got me all aflutter. Comfortable as sneakers, but I can wear 'em with anything. Take 'em anywhere, walk for miles in perfect comfort. Every time I wear these shoes, I'm the happiest guy on two feet.

We're not talking simple brand loyalty here. It's true love. Shoe love. I'd run into a burning building to rescue these shoes.

And they were on sale when I bought them.

No, I won't identify the brand. For one thing, they wouldn't work for you, unless you also have duck feet. For another, I'm not in the business of endorsing products. Unless a shoe company wants to pay me millions for the endorsement, like they do pro athletes. I could be bought. They could even put my likeness on the shoes, like they do with the Air Jordan logo, that great flying-dunk silhouette. What would be a good logo for a writer? Guy hunkered over a keyboard. Cursing.

Anyway, the brand doesn't matter. I'm talking about the way the perfect fit makes you feel.

Some product out there -- a socket wrench, a kitchen implement, a sports car, pants -- makes you, too, happy to be alive. Cherish this favorite. Always keep it in the same place. Don't lend it to others. Don't let anything happen to it. Who knows when you'd be able to find a replacement? They probably don't even make those anymore. In fact, you'd better go buy a couple more, while you're thinking about it. Put 'em away someplace safe. Just in case.

If you can't think of something that makes you feel this good, some brand that's earned your lifelong devotion, then I only hope that one day you find this level of happiness and contentment for yourself. Don't give up. Get out there and shop.

I'd recommend the shoe department.