Matt Hazard

Just like when Morpheus first met Neo, I knew that my wife would be the One. I didn’t need an Oracle to tell me she was about to crash my system and rebuild my world, even if it is slightly in her image. We started off doing all the things that married couples typically give up on after the first six years – we cuddled, tried new restaurants, left the house. It wasn’t long after we met that we’d spend our first Christmas together. Everything was perfect, until she gave me that pair of shoes. Two sizes too small. And so began the most memorably painful year I’ve spent with her. Submitted for the approval of the Midnight Society, I call this story The Tale of Toe-tally Painful Shoes. It’s a working title.

When Nazareth sang the lyrics of Love Hurts, I don’t think they meant it literal. I quickly came to realize just how painful and sensitive feet can be. I have a new respect for women who wear heels.

The obviously question is why on Earth didn’t I just tell her that they weren’t my size when I unboxed them? To be blunt, I’m a sap. The look of joy in her eyes when I opened the box to a pair of shoes that I wanted was heartwarming. She looked so happy and dare I say proud of herself for getting me something so nice early into our relationship, that I didn’t want to spoil it and take all the wind out of her sails. So I endured it.

The year progressed, and as it did I was painfully aware of how much time we were spending on our feet. Walks felt gruelling, elevators gave temporary relief to the pulsing agony in my feet until we reached our floor and the heartbeat returned to my arches. My toes screamed out ‘Why, damn you? Why!?’ every time I put the shoes on. And all this because I never had the heart to tell her they were the wrong size. Besides, wayyy too much time had passed at this point. Bringing it up now would both make me look like an insane person, and worse – I’d be admitting defeat.

I gained a new understanding of the word euphoric, because nothing could come close to the relief that I felt when I got to take those shoes off at the end of the day. I’ve been to sporting events before where I’ve had one too many beers and there was a mile long lineup to the washrooms, but emptying a near bursting bladder paled in comparison to the heavenly feeling of taking off those shoes.

The jig was up a year later when she bought me a pair of dress shoes because I lacked what she called ‘shoe game’. A slick brand new pair of Steve Madden leather shoes, fit enough for the finest lawyer in any court room. In a size 9. It was time to tell her the truth.

“They don’t fit? No problem! We can exchange them.”

Holy shit. Who knew it’d be that easy the whole time? That same afternoon I had the same lawyer-worthy kicks in my size. I explained my story about the Christmas shoe debacle and she just laughed and called me an idiot for torturing myself for a year. Yeah, idiot is right. Going back to normal shoes felt like moving my toes out of a ballerina’s torqued slipper and into an oversized mansion. Relief. Bliss.

Looking back on this I can’t help but laugh at myself. I don’t think I could go through all that again today. Maybe it’s because we’re married now and we both take zero issue with pointing out each other’s shortcomings (a healthy competitive relationship, as we refer to it). Yet on one hand it does seem almost chivalrous, going through all that just to keep a smile on her face even if only for a moment on Christmas. Chivalry and stupidity has always been a blurred line in my vision, but I’ve come to learn a few things over the years.

My advice now is simple – if something is causing you physical pain, it’s not worth the hassle. Simple as that. Just be honest with your partner – and yourself – and the situation will play out as it should. You’ll feel better, and your partner will respect you for it. Or the very least, your feet will.