DUI CLASSES ONLINE! 3200 N Hayden Rd ~ Suite 170 - Just South of Osborn Rd 480.429.9044 WOW! ONLINE DUI SERVICES! SCOTTSDALETREATMENT.COM ARIZONA’S FIRST ONLINE DUI SERVICES HOME • OFFICE • TRAVEL ANYWHERE YOU CAN “LOG ON!” ONLINE SERVICES: MVD • SR-22 ALCOHOL SCREENINGS, EDUCATION & TREATMENT ARIZONA’S FIRST ONLINE DUI SERVICES Compare our rates. CALL US LAST! Page 40 May 2016 By Kindra Hall I had a friend going through a break up. A hard one. A confusing one. One she wasn’t entirely sure was right, but she was at a crossroads and it was time to make a decision. We spent many hours together as my kind, beautiful, energetic friend talked through the ruins and wondered which path to choose. It’s not easy to be the friend in these situations. For the most part, my job as the friend is to offer little input or opinion, and simply listen and encourage. Then again, my friends know me better than that. They know I will likely say something … The question is, can I say the right thing. Or at least, not the wrong thing. Only after she let out a particularly long sigh and mumbled, “What do you think I should do?” did I finally speak. “There is a store in Minneapolis I used to love,” I said. The store was called Heartbreaker. It was in Uptown: a hipster part of the city before hipster was a thing. The styles were funky, trendy and would barely last a season – and that was OK, because the clothes were cheap and would fall apart after only a season anyway. It took several passes through the store to really do it right. The first time you looked at the racks you’d think, Never in a million years would I wear something like that. But by the time you strolled by it again you’d wonder, Could I wear a black, lace minidress with the midsection cut out? And when you checked the tag and it was only $19.95, you’d have your answer. Absolutely. Eventually, when I moved away from Minnesota and only made trips twice, then only once, a year, I had to preplan for my Heartbreaker trip; leaving extra room in my suitcase for stocking up. This was made even trickier by the fact that my favorite thing about Heartbreaker was the shoes (and shoes always take up the most space). Aside from shoes on display in the street- level window, Heartbreaker kept their shoe collection in the dark, damp basement of the store, which was only accessible by a wide spiral staircase. Once in the basement, you could look around as footwear unlike any other covered the walls. Heels, boots, flats. Casual shoes, funky shoes, stripper shoes (lots of stripper shoes if I am being totally honest). One-of-a-kind shoes that could stop traffic and draw crowds at a price that was next to nothing. My first trip to Heartbreaker I spent nearly two hours with the shoes alone. I was never disappointed by their selection and never inhibited by their price. In fact, the only thing that ever held me back from leaving the store looking like a Cat in the Hat-inspired balancing act, carrying shoe boxes piled to the ceiling, was… The size of the shoe. Heartbreaker is not unlike a high-end department store in that, when you find a shoe you like, you show it to an attendant and ask them to find it in your size. However, at Heartbreaker the attendant (who looks intimidating at first, with his brightly colored Mohawk and black under-eyeliner smudged down to his cheekbones), doesn’t come to you – instead, he stands behind a waist-high door that leads to a damp, moldy, concrete backroom where piles of shoeboxes are stored like hidden treasure. Once you fight your way to the front of the line holding the shoe(s) you wish to try on, the attendant disappears into the darkness, and all you can do is pray. Pray they will have your size. Which, by the way, they usually don’t. “We don’t have a 7 1/2,” the words drip out of his mouth – he’s clearly bothered he has to utter words at all. “But here’s a seven.” After the initial shock of disappointment, I grabbed the too-small shoebox, took it back to a chair, and commence trying on the shoes while still holding out hope. “No big deal,” I told myself. “My feet are different sizes depending on the brand. Everything will be fine.” I removed my current footwear, held my breath and began to slide into the one-of- a-kind shoe. But no. No amount of hoping, praying or shoving would change the fact that the shoe was a half size off. I didn’t go down without a fight, though. I refused to give up. “A half a size is nothing!” I’d say. “I can make this work.” I scrunched my toes; I turned my heel; I tried from every angle, from every side, from every way I could possibly think. But no matter what I did. It just. Didn’t. Fit. Desperately, I went back to the attendant. I begged the attendant, but there was nothing he could (or would) do. If I wanted this shoe, it was going to be a size seven. “In that moment,” I tell my friend who, yes, is still listening. “I am left with nothing but a decision: Buy. Or not.” Do I accept that they don’t have my size and walk away? Save my money, save my time, save my love until another shoe the right size comes along? Do I try to change the shoe to make it fit – stretch it or something? Imagining that, over time, I’ll be able to wear it into something that fits me better? Do I buy them, wear them, and then complain to my friends how much my feet hurt? Or, do I simply decide that, though I’m not completely happy, I love this shoe. And loving this shoe means living with the blisters? The jury is still out on my friend’s relationship, but our conversation reminded me of an important lesson I learned long ago in a cheap shoe shop I no longer visit: At any given time, and in any given area of our life, we face a similar crossroads. I suppose my hope – for my friend, for anyone – is that we either find a shoe that fits us the way we always dreamed, or… we keep the cupboards stocked with Band-Aids – because blisters are brutal. Relationships, like shoes, aren’t always comfortable GIRL NEXT DOOR

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