Shoe shopping, a unique form of Purgatory

This morning I told Patrick that I have bought exactly 7 pairs of footwear since we met, in 2004.

That might seem like a lot at first, but it includes every pair I have owned in total.

1. Mephisto sandals (very Birkenstock-ish -- ie unstylish -- but even more comfortable). I used my birthday money for these that year, because they're not cheap.
2. flip-flops
3. winter boots
4. my wedding shoes (which I still wear in the summer time; I chose shoes that could easily be worn for more than one occasion)
5. a pair of brown shoes that resemble canoes more than footwear from Afelskie's shoes in Barry's Bay. These clodhoppers were the only things I could wear for a few weeks before and after Noah was born, due to my swollen feet via high blood pressure. How very orthopedic. But again, comfortable.
6. another pair of flip-flops that were bought solely for wearing in the shower at the hospital after Noah was born. The shower stall was grungy looking, so I threw them out when we got home. Seriously, shouldn't a hospital be EXTRA clean?
7. and finally, a pair of black Mary-Janes that I bought before my niece was baptised, in March of 2007. I have worn these almost every day (except in the summer when the flip-flops or Mephistos were taken out) since I first bought them for $30.

I say all this about my shoes because the beloved Mary Janes have finally developed a huge hole in the bottom. I briefly contemplated duct-taping them, but since I wear them to Mass, I thought that wouldn't do. Alas, this afternoon I am forced to go shoe-shopping.
For some women, this might be an exciting moment, where you get to browse cute and funky styles, choose a pair, and hand over your VISA while you wide-eyed envision all the fashionable outfits you can forge around these very shoes. For me, though, this is more dreaded than shopping for jeans and bathing suits combined. It's not that I'm self-conscious about my feet or something, the way some women are about their figures when they shop for jeans or swimmear. They're just feet, after all.
It's just that shoe stores may well be the worst place in the world for me. They're always staffed by extremely well made-up (overly so, perhaps?) young women in unfathomably fashionable clothes with music so loud and pulsating as to make my head spin.
I guess I could avoid this if I bought all my shoes at some old ladyish store, but I like to at least pretend I have fashion sense. Of course, I don't, though. And so I am smacked across the face that I have to be forever dressed in "serviceable" shoes, not stylish ones, because I can't concentrate long enough to pick out something actually attractive. The over-stimulation forces me to grab the nearest Mary-Janes and run.
Yep, Mary-Janes. I am either 4 years old or a runner-up for the next Mrs. Duggar in style. Ugh.
{And I always have this struggle about the cost of shoes. Do I pay a lot and have them last for years, or a little and need to replace them sooner? Keep in mind these will be shoes that I will, once again, wear almost exclusively until they fall apart like their predecessors.}
Silly things to get hung up on, but here we are.
Today I'll hear Lady Gaga warbling in my eardrums, while a 17-year-old fuscia mascara and white skinny jeans tries to convince me I should at least try on those turquoise knee-high boots with a pointy toe. Meanwhile I'll attempt to chase my excitable two-year-old and keep my four-month-old peaceful enough to have a moment's quiet to think. As all of this is happening, I'll think of you enjoying your weekend. And I'll remind myself I only have to do this once every four years or so.