Nordstrom Fail

When I was in Seattle last June, Mike's mom took me to Nordstrom Rack. It was brilliant. It was enormous. It was cavernous, even. 

You see, Nordstrom (and its Rack) is like Mecca to me, predominantly because it is one of the few places that actually carries shoes in my size. (A ridiculous size 4, if you must know. Which is the same as wearing size 2.5 in girls' shoes. And I'm almost 33 years old.) I really couldn't care less about the designer clothes and whatnot - I just want to wear shoes that don't have Hello Kitty on them.

A Rack location opened in Ann Arbor in April, but I forgot to go. And then a few weeks later, me and my ankle were passed out on the couch reading magazines and binge-watching episodes of Parks and Recreation, so I didn't get a chance to visit.

Well, I finally got my car back, and I gotz paid, so I drove my ass to Arborland and hobbled inside.

The shoes were in the back left corner of the store, and it took me a few minutes to figure out where the bitty ones were. Imagine my disappointment when instead of the WALL of size fours I encountered in Seattle, there was one measly rack. ONE.

I swear that if it wasn't for the pain meds I would have sunk to the floor and cried.