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Posts tagged ‘Shoe’

Oct 2

22 Comments

Put On Your Happy Feet

Twelve years old. Hormones raging. Personality invaded by aliens. Livid with the universe for giving me gangly feet. And, Nike was all I wanted to slip on those feet that year: canvas shoes, white, light blue swoosh. Everybody had that shoe, and at twelve, I wanted to be like them.

I’m not really sure, but I think my Mom struggled to outfit me in the latest crazes. Izod gators on a couple of shirts. Aigner A on my purse and belt. Levi on my rear end. And, of course, the light blue Nike swoosh. The world would crumble if I didn’t have the swoosh. Like most pubescent junior high schoolers, I didn’t care whether my parents could put food on the table or pay the electric bill, or God forbid, indulge in something special for themselves.

I pouted and begged and nagged and tantrum-ed my way to the swooshie blue pair of my dreams. And, of course, I tired of them as soon as everyone decided something else was cool. I never worried about whether or not I had shoes. My parents always provided.

Somehow.

These days, parents struggle more than ever. Layoffs and pay cuts and hiring freezes and Tough Economic Times add up to more needy people, families that might look fine on the surface. But, they’re anything but fine underneath.

I spent Saturday morning with some of those families, helping needy kids select a pair of shoes for school through Rotary Happy Feet. Each child arrived at Target with an admission ticket issued by their school. Rotary volunteers measured their feet and were aghast to find some kids wearing shoes up to two sizes too small. Armed with the right measurements, volunteer shoppers helped kids select one pair of school-appropriate footwear. Another team carried them to checkout.

Rotary International picked up the tab for all of it. Almost $4,000 in shoes for 200 children. Their feet were supposed to be happy, but the smiles on the faces of children and parents alike – THAT’S what made me tickled to give up my Saturday morning.

I wonder. Would I have been as gracious when I was a spoiled pre-teen, standing in their shoes?

Too Much is Just Enough: Giving Back

 

Jun 22

28 Comments

I’d Suck On Those Toes

I’ve made no secret of the fact that I ADORE shoes. As long as I am breathing, I will never see a day when I have too many from which to choose. My dream life is to have a number that rivals Imelda Marcos’ collection housed in the cabinet Kurt Russell built for Goldie Hawn in “Overboard.”

What’s really, REALLY bad is that I am going to be in the land of the plastic shoe – the Melissa plastic shoe, no less – in a mere couple of weeks. I have already conspired to pack my suitcase such that I can whip out an extra and carry every plastic creation I can shove my foot into home with me. I don’t care if that means wearing the same outfit for 2 1/2 weeks. Or if I stink. Or if I offend people.

What is problematic is that MTM and I have this deal. Every time I buy a new pair of shoes (or convince others to buy them for me; I’m extremely skilled in that area), I have to get rid of an old pair so that all my shoe collection will fit in the towering stainless steel barrister’s bookcase in our closet. We blood-swore on this arrangement. Yet, I have found exasperating (and clever) ways to stick to it and still not lie to my spouse.

Flip flops stack. I can get four or five pairs of those suckers in one slot. Ditto for some sandals.

Items that don’t fit into the bookcase in the first place (like galoshes, hiking boots, Miller motorcycle boots and tennis shoes – I add to this list as necessary) do not count. It isn’t fair to hold them against me when they could never occupy the designated space to begin with. I am powerless to overcome the design oversights of others, because I am ignorant about good design.

Gifts do not count. I cannot help it if someone else want to buy my footwear, nor can I possibly refuse it without hurting their feelings.

If I ever come across these shoes, I hope someone will restrain me. They look like Barbie shoes, and I always, ALWAYS wanted Barbie’s shoes, but they only fit my pinkie. Even when I was four. How am I supposed to exercise control when shoes are this gorgeous?

Too Much Will Never, EVER Be Enough: SHOES

May 28

27 Comments

Wrap Me Up

I wish I had the nerve to act like a little girl. They are cute. Their fashion choices are flawless. They can wear ridiculous headgear and shoes encrusted with flowers and glitter, and everyone just thinks they are the most darling things ever.

And, when they destroy their entire coiffure because they wrap themselves in a curtain like a cocoon, it somehow makes them endearing rather than disheveled. Believe me, I’ve tried the tactic myself……..ahem, moving right along……

I watched two sisters last night. Their parents and grandparents were trying to have a sedate adult outing, and they thought decking the girls out in their Sunday best would make them act like they were in church. It partially worked for one of them, but the other one ended up twirling around in the entrance to the restaurant, chasing a streaming piece of ribbon. Around. And around. And around.

The next time I looked over, while the adults tried – TRIED – to sip their wine and carry on mature conversation, the girls were both mummified in the window drapes, their glitter-and-flower adorned shoes the only things I could see of them. Their feet entwined in a funny hyperactive dance, while they wondered God-knows-what about the sensation of being circumnavigated in brown velvet.

I wanted to get up and go over there. Ask them if I could play, too. Adulthood makes us too proper, too reserved, too concerned what other people think. Sometimes, I just want to be a giggling little girl again.

Too Much is Just Enough: Embracing Your Inner Child

 

 

Apr 4

43 Comments

The Old Man and The Shoe(s)

They often say ‘opposites attract.’ I don’t really know who ‘they’ are. But, if that saying is true, MTM and I personify it.

Take shoes. I worship them, overflowing our shared closet with so many pairs that it is hard to find room for all my other clothing, hats and handbags. Forget MTM’s stuff altogether.

When I buy a new pair of shoes (usually online these days, because I have no patience for shopping and trying on), I put them on my feet IMMEDIATELY. Even if I am wearing my pajamas or a ripped t-shirt when the UPS man knocks on my door. My feet cannot WAIT to be caressed and kissed by the shine of new footwear. I am a whore for a different pair of shoes.

Then, there’s MTM.

On my birthday weekend, I forced him – FORCED him – to buy not one, but two new pairs of shoes. Hundreds of dollars worth of leather for his triple E foot. He brought the sneakers home in our suitcase. The black dress shoes were delivered to his office last week.

As of right now, he has worn them…………..NOT ONE TIME. They languish away in the closet, next to shoes whose sides have pulled away from the soles and whose soles have fallen apart entirely, all shoes that MTM still wears every day.

I feel so sorry for those poor, neglected shoes (I mean the NEW ones) that I want to wear them, to show them that they have found a home with someone who will appreciate them. If I wouldn’t fall over because of their width, I would do it. I would skip around this city and break them in. Show them off. Let them know I am proud to call them mine.

Only they’re NOT mine. They are MTM’s. He just doesn’t know how to love shoes like I do.

But, he sure does know how to love me.

Too Much is Just Enough: NEW SHOES!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

 

Mar 27

31 Comments

I’m Not Trashy

Okay, I will be the first person to admit it: I deplore shopping. I cannot stand to peruse aisles of stuff on offer or spend more than two minutes trying on clothing. Or shoes. Even shoes do not get much time from me.

This is all my mother’s fault.

When I was growing up, we would go to the Florence Belk (or way back even Coker’s), and I would be trapped in a dressing room with everything in the store that was her size. She would put every single piece of it on, one at a time, and study herself from every conceivable angle.

This took HOURS. And HOURS.

She never bought any of it, always saying she would return another day to buy the one or two things that haunted her. All that torture, I mean, effort, and we would almost always walk away from the stores empty handed.

Fast forward to this weekend, the first time I realized that I am married to my mother. At least, when it comes to shopping. The only thing I wanted this weekend was a trash can.

I walked into Alessi, found it in 60 seconds flat, wanted it, nagged and nagged and nagged about it at every opportunity because we did not buy it on the spot, and now I have it.

Compare me to MTM.

We went into the New Balance store. Remember, Dear Reader, when I told you that one of his athletic shoes fell apart last week? Well, New Balance is the only shoe that fits his as-wide-as-it-is-long foot. He tried on a pair that fit. Actually, he tried on several pairs even after he found the pair that fit. And, I planted my hiney in a chair and refused to leave the store until he bought them. He thought he would find them cheaper online or discover a hidden clearance sale.

Or something.

I knew from experience with my mother this Would. Not. Happen. I held out and made a scene. And, he has the shoes.

It was annoying that my mother was too picky. And, it is my just reward that my husband is too picky. The only time I’ve ever been really picky was in choosing him. Some of my friends at the time questioned my reasoning.

They said I was too picky. And too old to be too picky.

Well, screw them. Sometimes, being picky is the only way to be.

Too Much is Just Enough: Being……Selective

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