I’m a fan of consignment stores. I truly think they are great. Without them, what would we do with all the assloads of baby and kid junk that we’ve acquired that they so quickly outgrow or get tired of? Yes, I know I can give it to the Salvation Army and many times I do, but I’ll be damned if I’m going to hand over a $60 Gymboree dress, worn only once, to the Salvation freaking Army. The same goes for all the other overpriced, new-with-tags crap in my daughter’s closet. Even better, however, are the great things you can GET there. There are some serious bargains happening in consignment shops and so I usually check there first for things where it doesn’t really matter if it isn’t brand new.
After Christmas I went to my neighborhood consignment store to try and find a pair of tap shoes in my daughter’s size as hers seemed to be too small after the holiday break from dance. As we sat on the floor trying different pairs, I came across some that looked to be close to her size. They were very similar to the ridiculously expensive Capezio’s that we had consigned a few months prior. As I was untying them, I caught a whiff of something. Ughh. What IS that? Then it hit me.
“Ewwwww!” I squealed as the shoes went flying from my hands. The woman from the store came running. I sat there on the floor with my hands out in front of me as if they were covered in something awful and vile. “These shoes have cat pee on them!” I screeched. I was justifiably horrified, particularly because I could feel the stickiness of old cat urine mixed with ammonia crystals on my hands and now that I recognized the smell, it was about to make me barf.
Before I knew it, the owner had brought me a box of baby wipes and hand sanitizer and was apologizing profusely. She continued to prattle on about how she had no idea how this could have happened etc. I nodded my head politely. Yes, of course, I understand. No problem. But on the inside I’m all “Ewwwww…get me out of here!” I bought a clean, unpeed-upon pair of tap shoes (and I ONLY bought them there because she had class that day and I was in a hurry) and we hauled ass.
A few days later, I came home and there was a message from the consignment store owner. I couldn’t imagine why she would be calling. I was very curious so I called her right back.
Our conversation went something like this:
Me: Hi, this is Mrs. Dean. You left me a message earlier today to call you.
Owner: Uh, yes, hi. I just wanted to tell you that I was checking my records to see who consigned the shoes with the uh, cat pee on them and uh… THEY’RE YOURS!
Me: *Apologizing repeatedly and telling her I have no clue how they could have gotten peed on blah blah*
At some point I must have told the woman, in attempt to keep it light and not die of total embarrassment right there on the phone, that I was going to blog about this horrid story, as if it were some cute little anecdote. Talk about your humbling experiences…
So yesterday, after avoiding the shop for about a month because I seriously never wanted to see her again, I decided to bite the bullet and go in because I wanted to see if they had a certain item and what’s the first thing she says to me?
“So did you write about the cat pee shoes in your blog?”
“Oh. Haha. Did I say that? Yeah. I mean no. Uh uh. But I will. Mmhmmm” Right after I die of humiliation.
I racked my brains for weeks trying to figure out how this happened because those shoes were only ever in two places: in the car or on my kid’s feet. How the holy hell did they get pissed on? The only theory I have is this one: One night I went outside and I saw two big yellow eyes looking back at me form the dash of the BAM (bad-ass momvan). There was a cat in my car. My neighbor’s cat, actually. WTF? How’d he get in there? Then I remembered that earlier that day my friend had gotten her daughter’s booster out of my car. He must have jumped in without her seeing him and then gotten locked in there for like 8 hours. I guess can see how a pair of tiny patent leather tap shoes might be a viable substitute for a litterbox…you know, in a pinch, or if someone locks you in a car all day.