Friday, July 3, 2009
If you know me, you're wondering why I'm taking a photo of some other woman's shoes. Because if you know me, you know 2 things about me:
1. I'm all about comfortable shoes.
2. I'm clumsy.
So these can't possibly be my shoes. But they are.
My little sis and I went shopping last weekend. She's 20 and has legs 6' long and the prettiest feet I've ever seen. I'm 38 and short and have never been happy with my legs or feet. Those self-imposed stumbling blocks, coupled with my requirement of shoes feeling like slippers on my feet the day I bring them home from the store, means heels and skirts have never had a place in my closet. But when she starts trying on shoes, it's like looking through a Victoria's Secret catalog. You know better but you still start thinking, "Hmmmmm. Maybe. . . "
I started trying on shoes too. They all looked silly on me and hurt like hell. Then she threw these at me. I tried them on and I finally understood. They hurt like hell but I was still considering buying them. I was becoming weak and abandoning my practical nature that I've proudly held on to since the days of my youth when my mom battling getting me into a dress always ended with lots of tears and pouting.
We'd been shoe shopping all day and to that point, Kelsey had called one pair of shoes I'd picked out "Jesus sandals" and said about another, "Um, those look very . . . natural. If you buy them, you'll have to wear patchouli oil." When I put these on, she said, "Buy them." Not liking feeling weak, I quickly took them off and put them back on the shelf. Besides, where would I wear them? To the garden? The race track? Maybe to clean out the chicken coop?
When I went back to KC a few days later, my mom handed me a bag and in the bag, the shoes! And now I can be impractical, fall, or request a foot massage free of any guilt or responsibility.