Many a wise man has said, "Do not judge a man until you have walked a mile in his shoes." While I make no claims to enlightenment, then, perhaps I have gotten a step closer today after having walked significantly more than a mile in another man's shoes.

Well, another woman's, at least. Specifically, my mother's.

I didn't originally intend to, you see. Sadly, however, my own shoes were out of commission. They'd had a particularly unfortunate run-in with an upended bowl of macaroni and cheese. Unfortunately, they were lactose-intolerant. They were put up in the First General Hospital of the Bathroom Sink to recuperate, and were feeling a bit too damp and sloshy to take me around town today. So I borrowed a pair of shoes from my mom in order to go to Target and The Movies and The Fish 'N' Chips Place and other locations about town.

Having undergone this event, let me impart upon you the wisdom I have gained from this experience: Everyone is alike in their possessing of feet, but everyone is different in the shapes of their soles. And wearing a pair of sneakers broken in for an entirely different pair of feet for three hours makes your feet really, really sore.