Woman’s gotta’ have shoes
Over the weekend (when I seem to get in the most trouble) I casually mentioned to dear Don that I needed a pair of black sandals for summer. I thought it to be a simple rhetorical statement. By very definition there would be no need for response, and I wasn’t looking for one. That singular expression haunted me all weekend, and I venture to guess will come back to me again and again. I really need to learn to keep my big mouth shut about certain things.
Let me explain. I have black sandals. I also have red, yellow, lime green, turquoise, pink, white, and brown sandals. I also need a multicolor pair and an orange pair. That, along with the second pair of black ones, about does it. I need two pair of black ones because the first pair is a low heel. I cannot wear them with my dress black pants. The pants are for heels.
I should have been more specific in my statement and declared, "I need a pair of dress black sandals with a one-inch heel to go with my dress black pants that are longer than normal!"
I’m sure that would have put an end to the subsequent diatribe about my shoes and me. We have this conversation every couple of years. We never settle anything. I’m still buying shoes and he’s still fussing.
Now don’t misunderstand the situation. It has nothing to do with money. Dear Don is the most generous man I have ever known. He couldn’t care less how much money I spend or on what. That’s probably because he knows I would not ever take advantage of his good nature.
Well, except, maybe, when it comes to shoes. Like most if not all women, I have a voracious appetite for shoes. I need shoes for every occasion. Just like you do. It’s not my fault that men only need four pair. One dress black, one dress brown, sneakers and some kind of hunting, fishing, rugged manly shoe.
I need gym shoes, multiple colors of dress shoes. I need lots of shoes with various heel heights. I need beach shoes. I need yard/garden shoes. I need bedroom slippers. I need several pair of neutral color shoes. I need shoes that will complement the purses I own. I need day shoes. I need night shoes. I need summer shoes. I need winter shoes. I need shoes to wear to the pool, to the ballgame and yes, Don, to the movies.
That little dig about "movie shoes" at the shoe store where I found myself Saturday was the straw that broke the shoe heel. I was minding my own business, trying on black sandals. Don was at another store looking at electronic gadgets like he’s so prone to do. He came into the store and I showed him the shoes I was contemplating. He didn’t seem even mildly interested. He just came in to advise me that he was moving on to another store.
As he turned to leave he asked, "Are those movie shoes?"
I shot him a look. There was a young girl browsing nearby. She had started to move on when she heard clever Don’s cutesy comment. She stuck around for my response. "No," I replied, "these are not movie shoes, these are shoes to wear with my dress pants."
" Do you need movie shoes?" he asked.
"No, I don’t need movie shoes" I answer back slowly, temper rising.
"Oh," he declared smugly, "I thought you were looking for movie shoes." The eavesdropping young lady was enjoying our little exchange. She smiled and gave me a knowing look of understanding and sympathy as she rounded the corner. One day when she questions her future husband about serious matters such as this, I bet she will remember the two silly people in the shoe store. We will have become some idiotically, verbose reference point in her recollection.
But back to the shoes. As I said earlier, it’s not about the money with Don, it’s just about the shoes. He doesn’t get it. He’s just being practical and I’m being impractical. I get that. It is impractical and illogical to want so many shoes. I get that, too. But of all the things I am in this world, first I am a woman, and a woman’s gotta’ have shoes.
Hey, clever Don, get the picture?
(Pssst, just between me and you I bought the dress black sandals with the one-inch heel!)