An open letter to my shoes

In the time-honored tradition of many of my friends, and folks across the world wide web, I present to you this bit of inane babble from several weeks ago.

Dear Shoes,

It is incredibly unhelpful when you are not where you are supposed to be: a.k.a. on my feet, or in my direct line of sight. Those are the only helpful places to be, as anything else, as my dear friend The Gruss would say "smacks of effort."  Because I chose to spend all my spare time this morning with my new bff, The Internet, I don’t have any time to play hide & seek with you. I know you like to play coy and hide in the strangest places (the bathroom, under the bed, in the pantry, etc.*) but I don’t really have time for those sorts of things now. I'm making such an effort here, by changing my location, and thus allowing the "in my direct line of sight" to fall on many different places.  I'm trying to make this work, so please meet me half way. 

And this isn’t to all my shoes simultaneously… just the ones that go with whatever outfit I’m wearing, so it applies to all of you at some point (except maybe you, strappy red pointy toe heels, but only because I haven't figured out just what I'm going to wear you with yet, though possibly the black & white ginham Lucy dress, so just be aware your time may be coming). I just don’t want to hear from my fabulous pink Crocs that you were right where you belong in the closet the whole time when I’m obviously dressed for work, and not even wearing pink. No, I’m looking for my black strappy sandals, as it is July. Or even my black slip-ons… except I know where they are (in the garage, covered in chenille dust from the blanket escapade of 2010**, so I can’t wear those). Or my black loafers or ankle boots or Dr. Martens… but that would mean getting socks out, and I don’t know where you are anyway, and I’m certainly not putting on socks only to find my sandals & have to take them off again.  That is not only counter-productive but also insulting to the time and effort I took to haphazardly splash some polish on these adorable little toes of mine.  I'm just trying to say that I'm not being unreasonable about this.  I’m flexible.  I’m willing to accept alternatives to my dream of strappy sandals, but I will not wear brown sandals with grey pants & a lavender shirt. Nor will I wear strappy red pointy toed heels, as previously indicated.  No, I won’t. Not even if you’re right in my line of sight & make my legs look miles & miles long. I won’t be tempted. I will not change into my Lucy dress, or even my red super-comfy swing dress that has the added benefit of pockets just so you match. I’m already dressed. The lot has been cast! I must have black shoes. Or lavender shoes, but I don’t own any, so black it is! Black, you hear me!

What was that, oh strappy sandals of flirtyness? You were right by the table on the way to the door & if I’d only walked out to the living room I would have seen you and not wasted time walking up and down the hallway searching for you? Yeah? Well say something sooner next time. Sheesh!

With much consternation,

Me





* Yes, I really did find my shoes in the pantry once.  No, I have no idea how they got there either.  I can only imagine that I was hungry, and in my low-blood-sugar zombie-like state, as I was staring listlessly at the pantry, hoping for something quick, easy, and preferably not flavored like cardboard to satissfy my craving, I decided that I would decide better if I was barefoot.  Hey, it happens.

**stay tuned for this life-saving lesson, coming soon (where soon means whenever I get around to it)