Perceived Sexiness vs. What’s Really Sexy

Courtesy of my closet.

You see those shoes up there? They seem innocent enough, right? Don’t let them fool you, though. Not too long ago, they were the cause of one of my most embarrassing moments yet. But to their credit, they also helped reveal a crucial detail about what I find sexy in a man. So I guess I can’t shame them too much.

Let me back up a bit to give you guys some background.

Remember when I talked about how I recently attended some black tie events? Well, for one of those events, I decided I wanted to wear my black tulle a-line ball gown. And even though most would not be able to see the shoes I wore underneath, I also decided that I wanted to wear the shoes shown above with this gown. This plan (wearing the shoes with the gown) was perfect, as far as I was concerned, for several reasons: these shoes are hawt; I knew they’d compliment my pedicure quite nicely; I knew I’d be able to keep them on for a long period of time (if not the whole night); and I’d only worn them a few times previously, so I figured it was time to let them out of the closet and get some shine.

Well… what I hadn’t counted on, of course, was the fact that I would be eating and drinking my way through a city known for eating and drinking for 5 1/2 days before I needed to put the shoes on. What I hadn’t counted on was my feet swelling up to look like I was 6 months pregnant.

And I think you can tell by the photo that those shoes are absolutely not meant for swollen feet.

Yet, there I was, gown on, make-up done, hair done, trying to squeeze my sausage feet into those shoes. It was by far the most embarrassing thing to happen to me in quite some time, but you know what made it worse? A guy that I like, who was looking very sexy in his tuxedo, ended up being the one to help me put the shoes on. That’s right. Instead of me standing in front of him, looking regal, giving him my best flize, watching him as he mouthed “damn you look good” and blushing because I knew I did but it was still nice to see him acknowledge it, I was struggling, twisting on the bed trying to get my damn shoes on when he walked in.

Just picture this: Him literally holding each leg up (right, then left) while I’m desperately trying to push my feet in further, as he is simultaneously working his magic (and using all the strength known to man) to zip the shoes up from my heel to the top of my ankle.

I wanted to die.

I wanted to take those shoes, use the heels to dig a whole in the ground, bury myself in that whole, and never come back up again.

When I say I was embarrassed… y’all… whatever word you can think of beyond embarrassed still wouldn’t be able to describe how I felt. Mortified? Humiliated? Disgraced? Nope, still not enough.

But once I got over the embarrassment (kinda, you really can’t get over that), I started feeling something else. Something unexpected. Something tingly. Something surprisingly great. Because while yes, I was uber embarrassed about my feet, there was this very sexy man in front of me offering to help me, with no judgment, with no jokes (until later lol), showing up when I needed him. He was kind, and he was calm, when I was two seconds from crying and freaking out inside.

And if how he looked in the tuxedo hadn’t already done it for me, that move right there certainly sealed the deal.

It showed me that I can perceive sexiness as fulfilling all of these physical preferences I like (straight white teeth, great smile, broad shoulders, etc…), and a guy can do all the perceived sexy acts I like (hugging me from behind, kissing my neck, etc…), but what’s really and truly sexy is when he just shows up and supports me, without me asking for his help. Even when it just involves the silliest, most embarrassing thing. Especially when it involves the silliest, most embarrassing thing. Because that lets me know I’ll have his support when it’s doesn’t.

What about you all? What’s something that you find sexy in a guy or girl that’s not typically thought of as sexy?

Wedding Shoe Dropout…

You remember the song that they sing in the musical Grease, Beauty School Dropout? If not, go here! If you do, then you know that the song came at the time when poor Frenchie knew her beauty school skills just were not going to cut it anymore.

Your own D-Magic had her own dropout experience this past Valentine’s Day. As I told you all before, I had a beautiful wedding to attend this Valentine’s Day. Truly – it was on Platinum Wedding TV Show status! And of course, you know my shoes had to match the event, right? Right… which is exactly what I was thinking when I placed these lovely crystal sequined shoes from Aldo on my Christmas List for my parents to pick from.

As luck would have it – my mommy got them for me! WOOT!!!! As unluck would have it, as soon as I tried them on, I knew it was going to take all of my heel wearing experience to make it through the night in these bad boys.

Now, I’m no amateur, but even the least knowledgeable person about stilettos can look at those heels and know that I had a task ahead of me. But since I’m no amateur, I followed my usual plan. Starting from when I came back to the District from my 2-week vacation at home in New Orleans, I officially had about 5 weeks to master these shoes.

I started off small. I tried wearing the heels for an hour with some thick socks, just chilling in the bed. I mastered that with no problem. Then, I graduated to walking around the apt for 10 minutes per hour, wearing the heels for at least 2 hours at a time. I vacuumed with the heels on. I washed dishes with the heels on. I even caked on the phone with the heels on lol.

And then, the damn snow happened.

And that took about a week and 1/2 of my time from me and an enumerable amount of my game. By the time the snow stuff had ended, I had only mastered wearing the shoes for 3 hours, with socks, walking around the house for 10 minutes every 30 minutes. Not good – considering the wedding + cocktail hour + reception was projected to be at least 6 hours! (This is where you realize the story is going to go wrong lol.)

But I pressed on. I wasn’t going to let these things bitch me. I’m D-Magic, stiletto queen. I got this – or so I thought. When the time came to wear the shoes for the wedding, I realized a huge tactical mistake I’d made as soon as I put them on. Unfortunately, in an attempt to make the shoes more comfortable for the wedding by wearing them with socks at home, I’d failed to see how they felt for hours without socks on. Here’s a clue – not very good.

What I found out was that while the socks definitely did their job of making the sides of the shoe more comfortable for me, they also succeeded in blunting the burn that my toes would normally feel while wearing 4.5 in heels with no hidden platform. Still, I refused to be punked out. I was going to wear those damn shoes.

And my girls who were with me, CCB and C-Murder, oh their shoes were no more sensible than mine were… so I didn’t feel too bad about my stubbornness. There we were, 3 fly sexy ass mamas walking to the wedding ceremony, knowing in our hearts we would not make it in these shoes all night. We lucked out for a while though. We found seats immediately upon entering the room where the ceremony was held. We found a small unoccupied table with chairs for the cocktail hour and we knew we could certainly make it through the dinner portion of the reception with no problems.

It was the dancing we were really concerned about. So we did what smart girls do… we made sure everyone saw those danged shoes while they could – while they were still on our feet. We crossed our legs to show our shoes. We walked with the bottom of our dresses in our hands to show our shoes. Hell, we even walked up to folks and said, “look at my shoes!” These were not times to be modest, you see lol.

But the Freemans had different plans than we did. Before the dinner actually began and before we knew what was happening – we were being asked to join the wedding party on the dance floor for a few quick dances. The shoes and the feet were not prepared for such surprises. By the time we’d preliminarily danced and walked back to our table for dinner, we all telepathically told each other that we’d be making a break for it upstairs to our room to change into our dancing shoes before we stepped foot onto that dance floor again.

And that’s exactly what we did. Sometime between our entrée of Filet Mignon/Chilean Sea Bass/potatoes and the dessert, we snuck out of that reception room so fast, you would have thought we were auditioning for Wonder Woman roles or something. And what’s even worse, we didn’t even make it to the elevator before we were kicking those shoes off our feet and limping our way to paradise, ie the dancing shoes we’d each picked for the night as the realization of shoe dropout drew nearer.

We took one last picture as evidence of our beauties (picture forthcoming), threw on the comfies, readjusted our dresses and made our way back to the reception as if we were not full inches shorter than what we were 10 minutes prior. I was the worst of the bunch, with my dress now fully dragging on the ground, as I made a complete 5 inch drop from my previous height in the dress. But it was all worth it. The pain, the running to the room, the slight feeling of failure that we only made it through 4 hours of the evening – it was all worth it.

Because that’s how much we’re serious about our shoes. That can’t ever be denied now lol.

New Shoes*

I sat on the couch quietly, in a daze, sliding my feet in and out of my Guess Syria leather pumps. For some reason, that slight motion was sending calm sensations to my brain at a time when the only thing I wanted to do was freakout and cry for hours and hours.

It almost seemed surreal what had just happened. Had I really just told him that I love him? And had he really responded with, “I love… Her”? Talk about not your fairy tale response, right?

Instead of replaying that memory in my head, I just kept sliding my feet in and out of my shoes. Only, the more I did, what was once my calming mechanism encouraged my first pang of pain. I literally saw visions of him stabbing me in the heart with the same 4 inch heels that were hanging onto my feet. That’s what he’d done to me.

It took him less than 30 seconds, but in that time, my complete existence had changed. I’d stood before him, a woman impassioned, filled with love and hope for the future. I was finally going to tell the man of my dreams that he put a smile on my face just by someone mentioning his name. That all I needed was a call from him and my day was better. That the thought of being with someone for the rest of my life was exciting and not scary when I plugged him into the equation. That I could see the day that God and all of our family and friends would bless our union when I looked in his eyes.

I stood before him with love.

But moments later, I stood before him… stunned. changed. incomplete.

And now I was on the couch. I was on the couch, broken, with only my shoes to try and comfort me. And now those shoes were being used in my head to signify the pain I felt. Feeling suddenly constricted, I swiftly took the shoes off for good and threw them across the room. The sight of them, like the sight of him, now sickened me.

Barefoot and broken, I walked to my room and stood before my closet. I needed some new shoes to represent my new transition; to what he’d brought me to. At first looking for black ones, I rummaged through the hundreds laying there, waiting to be picked… until I saw  my BCBG Ariel Satin Printed peep toe pumps. No need to be sad, they reminded me. Whatever God had for me would be for me… and until He was ready to give him to me, I would walk in new shoes now.

I’m walking in new shoes now
I got a new song to sing
When I walk in the room every head turns
Every eye is on me
Too bad you’re not here to see it
And by the time you get this
I’ll be  so long gone and far
I’ll send you a postcard

Beyonce had it right all along.

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

Let’s Roll*

“Let’s roll,” he said, with all the confidence of a man who was used to this type of thing. I mean, I wasn’t trippin, but he really did seem like the prospect of this one night stand was absolutely no sweat off his back. Like he did this every night or something.

“Okay, get it together,” I told myself. “This is something you’ve wanted for awhile now with this guy,” or at least I said I did.

I looked up at him, hand stretched out, waiting for me to get out of my seat and go with him. And yet it took me minutes, probably hours to actually take his hand. Okay. it was probably more like seconds, but in those seconds, I contemplated so many things.

What if its not worth it, I thought. Wait, what if he thinks I’m no good afterwards. Okay, that’s wasn’t really an option, but you never know.

I didn’t stop there. What if he secretly had a camera waiting to film our encounter and I would forever be known as a real video girl to his friends? And would he think of me as a whore after?

I just couldn’t stop myself. On and on I thought, as I fidgeted in my chair and knocked together my new Jessica Simpson booties that had given me the confidence to even be in this position in the first place. “Okay,” I said aloud, halfway to him and halfway to myself as an indicator that my feet should start moving and force my body to get out of the seat.

I looked back at him, and when he smiled at me with his beautiful straight white teeth, I knew I’d made the right decision for me. Giving him my hand, I allowed him to help me up from the plush brown leather couch that had engulfed me in its presence.

He gestured to his boy and we walked to the closet where my coat hang… so that we could leave and go to his place. I slid my coat on, looked at him one more time to reassure myself, then looked at my girl who was cheesing at my opportunity. Right, I remembered… I wanted this.

The moments in the car seemed endless. He’d strategically put on some Shai to set the mood right, but I kept thinking how I probably needed more than some shoe courage to pull this feat off. I needed some liquid courage asap, and I wasn’t too sure I would get any before the deed would begin.

Soon after these thoughts ran through my head, we pulled into his driveway, and for a moment, I was good. He looked my way, winked and said, “you’re okay, right?” “Yeah, I’m good,” I replied, sort of convincing myself. “Alright then.” And with that, he turned the car off, opened his door and jumped out, and before I knew it, he was on my side of the car, opening my passenger door. Was my jump off a gentleman as well?

We walked to the front door of his house and as soon as we’d entered the foyer, he turned to me with that same confidence he’d had before we left. “Take your clothes off,” he said, half whispering but still with a sense of command. Well, that gentleman question got answered pretty quickly.

I looked down at my clothes underneath my coat. I stood there in front of him with a white tank top, suspenders, skinny jeans, and heels… And he was asking, no wait, telling me to take everything off. Before we’d even reached the couch. Before I even got a tour of the house. Damn lol.

“Take off your clothes,” he said a little louder this time and walked closer to me, as if the reason I hadn’t started before was because I didn’t hear him.

“I..I… Don’t know if I can do this.” I began fidgeting again… these damn heels, I thought. What once gave me such confidence earlier in the night was now prohibiting me from making a break and running outside to get away from this awkward situation. Note to self, 4 inch heels are not the thing to wear when you’re not sure of what your actions will be later on that night.

We both stood in silence for minutes that felt like hours, but were actually probably seconds again. I fidgeted, he looked dumb struck, and then he broke the silence with one word… “okay.” With that, he’d ended the awkward moment as he walked back to his front door and gestured me back towards the car. I stared at those damn shoes the whole ride back to my friends house. I would never live this one down.

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

Steve Madden: Lost and Found

Okay, so for some reason these shoes look white in the picture, but they’re not… they are Grey. And sooooo cute! I saw them like a month or so ago at this Christmas Party I went to with Diamond Princess and S Curl. As soon as I saw them, I was like… oh I’ve got to have those. So I asked the lady where she got them from… “Steve Madden,” she says. Great. So I look up Steve Madden a couple days later… no shoes! Aghhhhhhhhhhh, what was I going to do? I needed those shoes…

Well, dear readers… the shoes have been FOUND. At Marshalls, of all places… and for only $30!!!!!! They come in grey and red patent leather AND the insole has a little padding!!! 3 1/2 inch sole, but for those who dont think they can walk in a heel with a lot of height, the thickness of the heel should make it a little easier. If you dont have a Marshalls around you, you can also find the Steve Madden IMPEREALs on Zappos, but they’re selling them for $89.

Congratulations*

 

“Shit!”

 

I was running around my 2 bedroom apartment like a chicken with it’s head cut off and stubbed my foot right on the corner of my desk. Definitely not a good sign. But I pressed on, rubbed my right foot for a second, examined it to make sure I hadn’t damaged it to the point that any marks would be left, and continued running around the apartment, throwing clothes all over my newly renovated 2nd bedroom/closet/office.

 

It wasn’t until I stubbed my left foot on the doorway that I finally decided I needed to stop for a second. I’d been driving myself crazy trying to figure out what I could possibly wear for such a crazy event. I mean, who would’ve thought that I would be attending my ex’s wedding today. Me?! No, seriously… me attending my ex’s wedding?!

I sat down for a second on my chaise lounge, took a deep breath, reached for my remote and turned on the song that would be getting me through this day. “Congratulations” by Vesta Williams. Unconventional, yes. But as the song began playing, a certain calmness surrounded me. And when she hit the chorus with her screeching proclamation, I sang along… loud and proud… as if Vesta and I were one and all of a sudden I had the ability to sing soprano.

 

“Congratulations

I thought it would have been me
Standin’ here with you
Congraaaaaaaaaaaatulations
I hope you’re happy
‘Cause as long as I can breathe
You’ll always be the one for me”

 

I don’t know what it was about that song. Maybe it was that I didn’t want to be like her at the wedding or maybe I was somehow a masochist, but the song had the uncanny ability to calm me unlike any other song that one would assume maybe could calm you in this situation. Regardless… as the song neared its end, I stood up, freshly renewed and determined to do this. I was going to walk into that church and be happy for him, because that’s what he’d asked me to do and that’s what I needed to do to make sure I was completely over him. In a strange way, I needed to see him get married… it would finally end our back and forth relationship, and it would be the closure I needed to move on to the man who was in my future.

 

I took another deep breath andremembered… “duh, no wonder I’m running around like a crazy person.” I’d started my process of getting dressed all backwards… worrying about what my outfit was before I knew what my shoes would be. I stepped into the actual closet-turned-shoe closet of my bedroom-turned-closet and immediately picked up my Guess “Naga” Peep Toe pumps… classic enough not to look like a whore at the wedding, but trendy enough to stand out.

 

And soon after I’d picked out the ruby red pumps, I knew what outfit to wear. I slipped into my lighter than sky blue pencil skirt, slid on my white ruffled blouse, took the pin curls out of my hair and put on my natural-looking make-up. I’d gone from crazed woman to calm and collected within 45 minutes. Picking up my ruby red Thai purse, I headed out of the apartment and to the church.

 

When I walked in the church, my brain kept looping the Congratulations song with the click clicking of my heels… somehow sending me into a sound numbing migraine. “Great,” I thought. “The one time I really need the song to soothe me, it’s doing the opposite.” Taking another deep breath, I began to walk through the big 2-door opening from the foyer into the sanctuary… and then I saw him. He was walking through the hallway with his best man attempting to calm him down, and I was standing there, hands on the door, completely still. I was caught in some kind of middle universe where everything stood still and all was silent.

 

And in that universe, he noticed me. He began walking towards me, taking me in from Guess pump to the eyelashes on my eyes. When he arrived in front of me, it was almost as if he was looking into me. He stared into me when he said, “Hello.”

 

“Hi,” I responded, with a slight gulp in my throat. We stood there, silent, not needing to say a word. And finally I said the word I’d been singing for the past few days to prepare myself. “Congratulations,” I whispered in his ear as I leaned in. “I’m happy for you”

 

I kissed him on his cheek and walked away from the front doors. I’d come for what I needed to come for; there was no need to punish myself anymore than that. Walking out of the front doors of the church, I sang myself to the car. “I thought it should have been meeeeeeeeeeee, but as long as I can breathe, I’ll know you weren’t the one for meeeeeeeeee.”

 

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

Catwalk/Sidewalk*

“She’s got her own thing, that’s why I love her. Miss Independent, won’t you come and spend a little time. She’s got her own thing. That’s why I love her. Miss Independent, ooooh the way you shine. Miss independent yeah, yeah yeah, yeah yeah yeah.”

It was a Tuesday morning and I was walking down the sidewalk as if it were a catwalk, strutting in my ruby red Gwen Stefani L.A.M.B. slingbacks, jamming to the Miss Independent remix on my ipod, when I saw HIM. Gorgeous brown skin honey with a suit and a smile, he had me mesmerized. So much so that in my mesmerization, I took one step too many or one step too few and went nose diving onto the sidewalk like Carrie on Sex and the City.

All I could see in that moment was the slow scene from the Redman video where the girl is riding her bike, sees Redman, and BOOM! Smacks right into the car. Except this was real and not a video, and thankfully, there was no car.

But I was humiliated. Not wanting to get up and open my eyes, since at this point it was way too late to try and play it off, I closed my eyes tightly and just prayed it was a dream I would soon wake up from. No such luck. And after what seemed like minutes but was more likely seconds, I decided to brace the embarrassment and opened my eyes.

The scene was worse than I could’ve imagined. Sure there were scratches and bruises on my hands, as I’d tried to save my face by throwing my arms out as protection from the concrete, but more importantly, my slingbacks were clearly scuffed and possibly ruined. Oh no, I screamed! “My shoes, my shoes, my shoes, my shoes…” Repeatedly I uttered those two words, not wanting to finish the sentence, not wanting to verbalize the horror.

But that horror and that chant was soon replaced by another one as I attempted to stand up. “Ohhhhh my ankle, my ankle, my ankle.” Noticing my seeming inability to get up, gorgeous brown skin honey with a suit and a smile decided he would help me out. He came over, scooped me up, and brought me to the nearby Starbucks so that I could have a seat.

And let me tell you, for about 5 minutes, I was in heaven. I’d started daydreaming and was seeing visions of Jennifer Lopez and Matthew McConaughey in Wedding Planner when he saves her from the truck after her heel was caught in the street graft or Tevin Campbell and Ashley Banks on Fresh Prince when he serenaded her after passing out on her birthday.

But the sugarplum visions didn’t last long. After making sure I was fine, gorgeous brown skin honey explained that he had to leave and make it to work. If he stayed any longer, he might be tempted to get my number and cheat on his wife, he said. And that was something he didn’t want to do. I told him I understood and appreciated his kindness and honesty and lamented the fact that I’d literally fallen for a married man. “Gotta start checking that damn ring finger,” I said and called my coworker to come pick me up.

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

Watch me Walk*…

I had on these black calf- high boots.

They scrounched around your leg, kinda like the slouch socks we all used to wear back in the day.  It’s amazing, you know, that that’s what I remember: how BOMB my Aldo Frorino boots were when he dropped the bomb on me.

It’s almost like it was yesterday. When I was so assure of myself, my life… us. One minute we were running around like 2 little kids, completely gushingly in love… Making. Plans. And the next minute… well, I’ll get there.

The day was innocent enough. We’d decided to go to a comedy club, and had the fortune (or torture, depending on how you view it) of getting front row seats, so you know I had to be dressed to the T. Of course, we didnt want the comedian to go on us. And really, that part of the night went well. We laughed and joked and had a great time NOT getting made of fun of. At one point, I had a scare because the joker did point me out… but it was only to say that my boyfriend must be a lucky man, and that if it were him, I’d only be in my boots by the end of the night.

Doing a lot to say the least, but it was fun. We had fun. And I was just enjoying being around him. In his space.

After the club, we drove around the city for a little while, just talking, and we soon decided to take a walk along the waterfront at Georgetown. Neither of us was ready to call it a night and contrary to what the comedian thought, we werent rushing to get back home and tear each others clothes off either. (We had all night for that, obviously lol). Anyway, we’re walking. And my phone rings.

Part of me almost didnt pick it up, because I didnt want to take away from the serene mood we were in by having one of my friends try and tell me some good gotcha for the night. But I answered anyway, not knowing if it was an emergency, and not knowing the number on the screen.

“Hello,” she said.

“Hi.”

“You may not know me, but um…”

I honestly, can’t really remember what happened after that. She may have said, “but your boyfriend does,” OR “but he does,” OR “but you will soon.” It really didnt matter, because I knew what she was calling for as soon as she said those first seven words. It was like I was in a movie, because, I mean… people dont really call and say those lines, do they?

Well she did. And as she spoke more words that I couldnt comprehend, my face began to contort into this look of extreme dissapointment. Not even at him, but myself. I knew it, I thought. I knew I couldnt trust him. It was actually kind of ironic since I had been someone he cheated with before we got together officially, that SHE (whoever she was) would be calling me to tell me that he was now cheating on me.

<—–I think thats how I wanted to be, but before I knew it, I’d turned to him, looked him in his eyes and calmly said… “I think this call is for you.”

And he knew. He knew from my look that it wasnt a call he wanted to take. Taking the phone out of my hand, he hung up on her without saying a word and tried to grab me as I buckled to the ground.

“How could you do this to me?” I cried.

“I’m sorry. It’s not what you think.”

And as soon as I heard those seven words, I knew it was over. I could never trust him again, because I didnt trust him now. I stood up… in my calf-high boots and vowed that he would NEVER see my like that again. He would never see me on the ground, begging him for answers. And he would never get the chance to explain. There was no explanation. I was done.

And that’s what I remember from that night. Not who the comedian was. Not who the girl was. I dont even remember anything else either of us had on. I just remember standing up straight in my scrounched boots and vowing that the last time he’d see me… he’d see me walking away.

“No matter how hard it is I’ll be fine without you. Yes I will.” ~ Leona Lewis, Better in Time

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

Stilletos, Pumps, in the club*…

This funny moment is brought to you by Hennessey… it makes the hoes look good (or so I’ve been told).

Picture the scene: five fly ass chicks (at least that how many people I remember being there lol); it’s our first year as alumni of the prestigious, Mecca of Black Education, so of course, we’ve decided that doing it BIG would be too small…

Pimp C and I had already cleared out all of Pentagon City, courtesy of this shopping trip. And I’d already decided that Friday night at Dream (it’s Love now, but was still Dream then), I was going to be FIERCE! No. Really.

I’d coordinated my outfit so that it was chic and just understated enough so that the greatest accessory could shine: my shoes. They were bronze, silver, and gold 4 inch stilleto sandals. The heel was silver, while the straps that wrapped around your feet crisscrossed in the 3 different colors. It was the perfect shoe for someone who couldnt decide if she wanted to wear silver or gold jewelry and it had the added bonus of sparkling in the club lights!

By the time we arrived, we were already lit, courtesy of our tendency (at the time, ahem) to overdue it when we pregame. But once we got there, it only made sense (to us at least) to keep the party going. After a few Long Island Ice Teas and a couple Hennessey and cokes, you could say I was real nice. lol

Towards the end of the night is where all the fun happened, however. There we were dancing, and all of a sudden, it felt as if the ground beneath had caved!

But it was only one side!

I turned to CCB and said, “Dude, I think something is wrong with the ground!” and as I looked down, with my finger pointed to the floor, my mouth twisted and contorted into the worst gasp EVER! It was only then that I noticed the horror of all horrors had occurred.  My heel broke off 😦

I returned the shoes the next day.

*There’s a STRONG possibility that this story is not 100% accurate!

Rain on my Parade, NOT my shoes!!!*

 

“Oh no! They’re wet! They’re soaking wet!!!!”

 

I walked onto the elevator, slid the hood of my coat off of my head, and looked down at my shoes. My once yellow mellow Diego Di Lucca “Ladonna” flats were now bluish-green from the rain and the grass I had to walk through to get to my apartment.

 

This was just the perfect ending to one of those really, really long days. Walking up and down the office, I was already worried that I was going to look down and see that the little miniature kitty heel on the shoe had worn all the way down. But somehow, someway, my shoes and I had made it through the day.

 

We’d faxed and filed papers, made important phone calls, sent out emails, attended meetings, and come outside to a brisk night sky that all of a sudden turned to a terror. Without any warning, the sky seemed to open up and all the rain ever created came pouring down onto my shoes and me.

 

When I got in the door, I rushed to the kitchen, grabbed oodles of paper towels and attempted to tap dry the babies, until my roommate walked in with a roaring laughter at the sight of a crazy woman who was soaking wet and only worrying about her shoes.

 

“Get up silly girl,” she said. “The shoes will dry on their own and look yellow in the morning.” Ahh yes, that’s true, I thought… in the bright morning sun, my shoes would coordinate with that flashing bulb in the sky and all would be well… unless that is, they looked more like the rainbow that comes after the rain. Eek!!! I went right back to towel drying until I was satisfied with the outcome.

 

* There’s a STRONG possibility that this story is not 100% accurate!