Our girls get 95% of their clothes/shoes from the thrift store, and they’re cool with this. (They don’t really have a say in the matter unless they want to go get a job.) Gabe’s mom will buy them shoes occasionally, and we got them both running shoes at the beginning of the school year, but that’s it.
The older two really wanted some Converse shoes a couple months ago (their PayLess knock-offs have been worn to shreds), and Mom and Dad said yes, so we went shoe shopping. Three stops later, we’d exhausted all our options but the mall, and it was 9:00 on a school night and everything was closed, so we headed home while the girls sang the blues.
Gabe looked on Target.com and found the shoes they wanted for $19.99 and free shipping. But they didn’t have Livi’s size in the turquoise ones she wanted. They told us they update the site every Sunday, so we waited. Still no size 5. Waited another week. Nope. She decided on Paprika. (Ava got red, Nina purple).
About 10 days later (after 5 days of “why aren’t our shooooooooes heeeeeeeeeere yet?”), the box arrived. Purple size 12. Red size 4. Paprika size… 6. Wrong size. Livi started crying. And lamenting the unfairness of her sisters wearing their shoes while she didn’t have hers.
After some initial balking, Ava and Nina decided it wouldn’t be fair if they wore them before Livi did. They’d wait.
Called Target. They apologized. I needed to print out a label, package up the shoes, take them to the P.O. and they’d send me the right pair. “Are you going to give me anything for my trouble?” I asked. “Yeah,” the lady said, “the right pair of shoes.” Nice.
On the Customer Service Evaluation form, I wrote out a sob story of Livi’s tears and she told me she’d send me a $15.00 gift card.
Over a week later, Livi’s box arrives. We tear it open. My jaw drops. Paprika size SIX. AGAIN. She cries again. I call Target. After a big run-around, they figure out the problem. There are no size fives. When you click “size five” it automatically gives you size six. The guy told me they had size 5 in blue. I talked to Livi. She said okay. A week to 10 more days, they said.
Another evaluation form. They told me they’d send me a $10 credit to Target.com. “I don’t want a credit,” I said. “I don’t really want to shop at Target.com again anytime soon.” They said they’d send me a $10 gift card.
I still haven’t seen these gift cards. But Livi and I had a really good talk about hope deferred and waiting on things and how God’s plan is awesome even when it seems like it stinks. I likened it to having a book proposal rejected and waiting on a publisher to say yes. You know, philosophical stuff like that.
And every time we walk in or out our front door, the purple and red shoes sit there and taunt us. But bless Ava and Nina’s hearts, they haven’t asked once in the past 3-4 weeks if they can wear their shoes already. And now they won’t even get to wear them before school’s out.
So Gabe and I were driving to Charlotte, NC this afternoon and we got a call from Livi (the girls are staying with Gabe’s mom at our house). “My shoes came!” she said. “And they’re size five (then another word I couldn’t understand)!”
“Size five ____ (same unintelligible word)!”
“What?! I can’t understand you!”
“Size 5 INFANTS! They fit in my hand!!”
I didn’t want to believe her. I begged her to tell me she was pulling my chain. She wasn’t.
“Are you okay?” I asked. “Are you laughing or crying?”
She was laughing.
“As soon as Mommy and Daddy get back, we’ll take you to Target to get you some shoes,” I said. (the reason we didn’t do that in the first place was because she wanted weird colors they didn’t carry in the store–we’re out of options now though)
Gabe called Target.com from the mountains of Virginia and asked to speak to a manager. After waiting for 5 minutes, he lost the call. Tried again, spoke to a manager for 5 minutes, lost the call again.
So we gave up.
I just got another one of those evaluation forms in my e-mail. I’m going to take a deep breath, say a prayer, and then share the gospel or something.