The Shoes of My Dreams

My mother couldn't wear the kinds of shoes all the models wore, or even the kinds of shoes displayed in every shoe store across America, because she wore a size 2. Stores didn't carry her size (for adults anyway).

Then one day she received a catalog in the mail called (this is really true) "Cinderella Shoes." Suddenly her closet rivaled the closet of Imelda Marcos. Well, maybe not – Marcos owned something like 5400 pairs of shoes – I think my mother had only 540 pairs.

I have inherited my mother's feet, though mine are a whole size larger. What that means, in terms of inches, is that mine are 8.5. So you can imagine what happens if I put on a 4-inch spiked heel. It wouldn't look so bad if I were, say, 4'8", but I'm not. I'm almost 5'7". I look ridiculous walking on my toes.

Oh, wait, I do anyway. 

Little sidebar: some of my grandchildren do too. Isn't mimicry supposed to be flattering? I don't know why I began walking on my toes, but it became a habit. Maybe the floors were too cold when I was small, and the less of my foot on the floor, the warmer I became. I don't know, but I've been looking for a TA (Tiptoes Anonymous) group everywhere, and I can't find one anywhere.

Forgive my digression. Now onto the subject of shoes and my desire to wear the pretty ones. Like my mother before she discovered Cinderella Shoes, I shop in the kids section and am delighted that I can wear all the cartoon characters I can find. Fortunately I LOVE sequins and sparkly things, because most children's shoes are adorned with them.

I even began a search for Cinderella Shoes, but guess what? NOW they are for giant feet! How did that happen? Oh, never mind, that one is in Ireland. The United States has one in Boston for petite feet. Yeah!

Oh, who am I kidding? What am I going to do – strut around the house like June Cleaver while I tend to the children in my daycare?