Because he said they sell shoes at Bass Pro

Recently I gained access to an old blog site of mine and was able to download all of my posts. I'd figure I'd share a few of them on here. This story was originally published online on October 22, 2007 and was a favourite among many of my readers at that time.
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Yesterday afternoon Chad and I paid a visit to Bass Pro in Vaughan on our way back to Highway 401 after visiting family near Alliston. And only because Chad said something to me once we were just south of Highway 9, “They sell shoes at Bass Pro.”

Those who have not been following the shoes for Chad saga should know that this is a sad state of affairs in our marriage. Chad hates, hates, hates to shop for shoes.

I said if I take you to Bass Pro you will look at shoes? He said yes and added that since we were out here anyway, he wouldn’t mind researching some marine GPS units.

My hands gripped the steering wheel - tighter. Here we go again, I thought. Chad’s wanted a GPS unit for eons. I’ve been trying to convince Chad that maybe we should take a vacation this coming March break as a family and go somewhere warm – like Cuba. And, take Jayde and my mom, too. Seeing an opportunity so that he’d have some kind of bargaining power, he suggested that myself, my mother and Jayde go and he would stay home so we could save some money. And he could buy himself a GPS unit with the money we’d save. Yes … please think about that logic. I’ll wait.

We parked. I was only going in for one purpose and that was to get my man some shoes as he was not, over my dead body, going to wear rotting and moldy sneakers for another winter.

I hate Bass Pro. I hate everything that Bass Pro represents - specifically the hunting part. We have supermarkets. And since we all live in relatively civilized parts of Canada, we have no reason to hunt for tonight’s dinner. Chad is way into fishing. If Chad could quit his job and fish all day, he would. I don’t like fishing. If I was to quit my job and fish with Chad, I would be the one bleeding from the eyes because of the forks I stuck in them – that’s how much I love to fish.

Once in Bass Pro, Chad hung a right and headed towards the Fishing section. Did I mention I was wearing an Ottawa Senators Jersey ... in Bass Pro ... in the GTA ... in a store that sells weapons?

I dragged my feet around the aisles while Chad browsed the GPS units appearing very interested in what he was seeing unlike an earlier shopping experience I had written about. While Chad browsed, I walked around Bass Pro in my Sens Jersey completely aware of what a deer feels like in an open field and I waited.

And I waited and I waited for Chad to finish his “research” and join me so we could look at some shoes for him. I eventually headed back to the GPS display kiosk and to my horror, the salesperson was DEMONSTRATING map software to Chad on a device priced at $2995.00. Before I could say anything, Chad was quick to point out that he was only testing the map software and not to “shit a brick”.

I proceed to wander about the store some more. Did I mention how bored I was? When I looked up again from perusing a display bin of grey woolen socks that claimed to offer "18 hours of non-stop warmth", Chad was fingering this small GPS unit - testing its weight in his hands. I walk over. He went to open his mouth but I shut it for him by simply asking the salesperson how much and how much more for the map card? I get an answer. I do the math in my head. Chad is standing next to me. I can tell he’s holding his breath.

I sigh. I think about all the fishing stuff Chad has and I think back to when in the car earlier - as a joke - I suggested we use the fireplace to keep us warm this winter and we go ahead and replace the motor in the furnace next winter if he wanted a GPS so bad. Chad actually agreed this wasn’t a bad idea. I was kidding. 

I agree to the purchase of the GPS unit. The salesperson begins to point out other features the unit has. I give him the look. He stops talking. Chad tries to contain his excitement by telling me that because we are buying the GPS no one has to buy him anything for Christmas. I said, this Christmas? Don’t you mean Christmases? Of course no one is buying him anything for Christmas, they’re going to give me the money.

Chad always acts very different after he gets something he wants. He practically skipped over to the Footwear department. This is Bass Pro, they know their clientele. They would never use the word 'shoe'. 

Scanning the display of shoes, I avoided anything with laces. If there is one thing I have learned about my husband is that the less labor involved with putting on shoes, the more likely he is to wear them. I learned this from his current obsession with his Crocs. See, Chad gets up at abnormal hours throughout the year because his job literally revolves around what time the sun is going to rise. The less time Chad has to spend getting ready for work in the morning, the longer it means he gets to sleep. Considering laces take 8 seconds per foot, Chad gets 16 extra seconds of sleep if I buy him a shoe that slips on. This is not my logic. No, I don’t understand it, but I have never had to get out of bed at 4:30 in the morning and actually go somewhere. Feed a baby, yes. But that’s beside the point...

I notice a nice, leather, clog-style shoe on the display shelf and show it to Chad. Knowing that he better play along seeing as we have not paid for the GPS unit yet, Chad slaps a smile on his face and comments that the shoe is nice. I ask him, do you mean nice as in I’ll wear it nice or, nice as in the color is a nice shade of mocha-nice or, nice as in I better say I like it or else this bitch isn’t going to go ahead with buying this GPS unit - that right now - no one is prying from my hands unless I am dead and cold nice?

He says, I mean nice as in I like them. So Chad skips over to the inventory end-cap and hunts himself down a size 12. A size that is NO WHERE to be seen. Because I have learned about what kind of window of opportunity I have with Chad when it comes to buying shoes, I practically attack the first salesperson I see and shove the display shoe under his nose and beg for a 12 – stat. He flees. I think he has been through this before.

As we are waiting - which seems to take an eternity - I ask Chad again if he will wear the shoes. This was met with a reassuring smile but he asks me if he really should be wearing them to work. Chad doesn’t go anywhere else other than work and he definitely isn’t fishing in these shoes. Where did he think he was going to wear the shoes? Church? I grab a fishing boot and hit myself repeatedly on the head with it. Chad relents and says ok, I will wear the shoes. He knows why this is important to me. Back in the day, when I used to date, the first thing I would notice about a man was his shoes. Seeing as Chad was wearing new sandals when I first met him, he got off easy.

The sales guy comes back with a size 12 - in the exact same style and color I sent him to fetch. Chad tries them on, walks around, casually sneaks a glance to make sure I have not run off to bring the GPS unit and map card back to the kiosk, and proudly announces that the shoes are indeed, nice, and that he will buy them. I nearly weep.

In the end it cost us $689.00 to buy a $40 pair of shoes. And yes, we will be using the fireplace this winter. And yes, I will continue to look at a white kitchen floor that I absolutely have come to hate but at least Chad will know how to navigate himself around Lake Simcoe come January.

There was a point to this story aside from me finally having found a new pair of shoes for Chad. Chad prides himself as being a “Mike Holmes” kind of guy. If it’s not done right, bought right, or purchased for the right amount, then just don’t bother doing/buying it in the first place. Last weekend, I asked Chad to install a cat door into the furnace room door so I can keep Jayde away from the cat litter boxes and her insistence on needing to watch, and helping, the cats poo/pee - which results in accidents elsewhere in the house - because the cats refuse to pinch anything out while a two-year-old is holding them down in the litter box yelling at them to pee now! You pee now! Ok! Poo! Make poo poo cat!

Chad eventually grew tired of me asking him to install the cat door and finally dragged himself down to the basement to do it.

The result? Last time I checked, I do not own circus cats. I have never trained any of them to jump through a hoop. So there is no way in hell any of them, especially Nala - who is as coordinated as a bull in a china shop - are going to jump through a cat door to take a dump.

Chad installed the cat door incorrectly. I don’t know if he did it on purpose to piss me off. But in the end, it will come down to him having to cut a hole out so the cats can walk through it - which is what I suggested in the first place. It was his idea to buy a cat door so it looked “nice”. See pic.


I realize in the picture on the actual product, it shows a cat happily stepping through the door. Two of our cats are old and lazy - hence the circus cats remark. Chad should have known better. Below is how it should have been installed (through the power of Photoshop) ... so the cats just slide through which all three would be very good at since they all dive quite well under the couch when they see Jayde coming.
 
To solve the problem, Chad ripped out the door, cut the door off from the bottom, and left a large, rectangle-shaped hole.

The cats love it.