Easter Impressions*

13 04 2009

It was Easter Sunday in sunny California, and I’d planned everything, from the food we would eat to the times people would show up at the house. I’d planned everything except my shoes, and for some reason, even though my outfit was thoughtfully in place… The right shoes just weren’t coming to me.

I stared and stared at my shoe closet, finally deciding after 20 minutes to step away from the madness, clear my thoughts, and come back later. The problem wasn’t that I didn’t have a pair that would work, the problems were that a) I had too many pairs and for once, was slightly overwhelmed trying to make a decision and b) I was having the craziest time finding something that was cute, casual, didn’t look like I was doing the most, but didn’t make me look like a scragamuffin.

What made the task harder was that Easter dinner was being held at my house so wearing heels, I figured, would probably look pretentious and very Bree (desperate housewives) of me. Tennis shoes wouldn’t work because of my outfit, and neither my flip flops nor my sandals would work because I needed a pedicure. I was stuck, for real.

So instead of making that decision, I went about making sure everything else was ready and done. I set the food out on the preparation table, set the dinner tables, and moved most breakables out of the common area. Everything was in place… Everything but me. And I had no time to continue deciding as the first round of people began showing up, as evidenced by the ring of my doorbell.

“I’m coming,” I screamed, ran to the closet quickly, threw on the first shoes I saw and ran back to the front door. I’d barely even had time to catch my breath when I swung the door open and welcomed in my first guests: 3 of my good friends from school and a beautiful stranger. I hugged each friend, making sure to slyly keep my eye on the prize. We smiled, introduced ourselves, and as I felt him giving me the once over, panic set in.

Of all the shoes I could’ve put on my feet, I’d thrown on a pair of old Birkenstocks and I just knew when his eyes birkenstocksreached my feet, this amazing first impression would turn sour. I followed his eyes in my mind and when he reached my feet, I tried desperately not to start squirming and show my uneasiness by shifting my feet. I stood confidently in those raggedy old shoes (or at least I hoped I had).

“Birkenstocks, eh,” he kind of chuckled.

“Well, you know… I just had to throw something on real quick before company arrived.”

“No problem, ma… I think it’s cute. I havent seen anyone wear those since high school.” He looked up and gave me the biggest smile and suddenly I was okay with the shoes I’d chosen. But I knew I would make damn sure that next time I was more prepared. Can’t have the cutie thinking this is a normal situation.

* Just another attempt at strengthening my short story skills….




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