I got my new shoes today!
My husband brought them in from the mailbox when he got home. He set them on the counter and casually mentioned, “Your shoes are here”. I squealed with excitement and let out a little leap as I ran to the junk drawer to grab the scissors. I have become somewhat of an expert at opening packages but this one was giving me some difficulty.
I JUST WANT TO SEE THE SHOES, YOU DAMN PACKAGING TAPE!
As soon as I opened them I oohed and ahhed and promptly set them on the ground, steadied myself and put them on my little hobbit feet. More squealing ensued. They were perfect!
They were the exact color of gold I was hoping for. A little sparkly but not gaudy. They were just the right heel height. I left the ground but didn’t fear for my life. They didn’t squeeze my toes. They had just enough bling around the edges, making them classy yet totally BA. They were beautiful!
After a few struts around the kitchen and living room, admiring my feet, and taking a foot-selfie, I decided I would keep them on as I cooked dinner with Kevin. About half way through our cooking performance (for that is what it is when you are wearing gold sparkly high heels) I caught a glimpse of myself in the sliding glass window.
The world stopped for just a minute as I realized that I was cooking spaghetti wearing a t-shirt, gold sparkly heels, and no pants. I turned around and questioned my sous chef, “Is this the weirdest thing I’ve ever worn, or what?” He so sweetly, without even flinching, with no sarcasm at all said, “Nope, no, not really”. And I considered, just for a minute, what that meant about me and who I am and why my life so frequently ends up pants-less and sparkly. I didn’t have time to finish the thought though, my noodle water was boiling and my heels needed more dancing practice.