I’ve always been a little bit of an, ahem, shoe whore.
I love shoes. Shoes don’t care if you gain ten pounds or lose 35. It doesn’t matter if you’re having a good hair day or a bad muffin top day. Shoes still look the same, fit the same, and make you feel the same.
This summer, I went on a wedge sandal kick – the higher the better.
No matter how steep the platform, I could walk without feeling like I was going to tip over. They made me feel, well, tall (an accomplishment when you’re as short as I am). And like I could kick a little ass. Those wedges, they made my legs look pretty damn good, too.
I intended to keep the trend going with a bunch of high-wedge boot s for the winter.
But you know what they say about the best-laid plans? It’s totally true.
Thanks to this knee of mine, I won’t be wearing heels again any time soon. Or, you know, ever again. This charming leg brace rules boots out, too.
You know what kind of footwear that left me with? A pair of running shoes and a pair of black flats that stink to high heaven. Literally.
This was not an acceptable state of affairs.
So coupon, crutch, and sleepy preschooler in hand, I headed to the store to buy some new flats.
Have you ever tried to excavate shoes from the lower shelves in Kohl’s when you can’t really bend? It’s a bit of a challenge. That’s where my mini-me shoe lover came in handy.
She brought me every pair of size 8 shoe she could find. She brought me red ballet flats. Powder blue slippers. Hounds-tooth rain shoes. Even some neon yellow kicks.
And then she helped me put them on my feet, easing them over my toes and smacking them on to my heels.
But I found a reason to reject every single pair. One was too tight. One was too big. Still another too small. And the other one was, well, neon.
She started to droop a little, but still she didn’t give up.
And then she found them. The Perfect Pair of Shoes.
They were silver. And purple. They sparkled. And they had, well, see for yourself:
Those, my friends, are cat faces. Complete with black whiskers and purple sparkly ears.
Tori slid the first one on my foot, sat back and smiled up at me, her grin heartbreaking in its joy.
“Do you like them, Mommy? Because I think they’re beautiful.”
“They’re very pretty.”
“Are you going to buy them?”
“Well…I’m not sure.”
“Oh, Mommy! You have to! You look like a princess.”
I looked at her shining face. Down at the shoes. Back at her. Back at the shoes. And I had to admit, they were pretty cute. Completely ridiculous, of course. But I’m stuck wearing a big black brace and the same three pairs of leggings over and over and over again.
I deserve a little sparkle in my life.
“Of course I’m going to buy them! Too bad they don’t have them in your size, or I’d get you some, too!”
“Yay!” she said, jumping up and down. Then, very seriously, “We could look on Amazon, They have everything on Amazon. Then the delivery man could bring them to me!”
“Alright, baby, we’ll look,” I said (we probably won’t). “But now let’s go buy these and get home to daddy, okay?”
And that’s why the last thing I bought was a pair of silver sparkly kitty cat shoes.
It’s also why I’ll smile every single time I wear them.
Proudly written as part of Mama Kat’s Writing Workshop.