A friend came over with a few pairs of shoes she thought would look nice with my dress.
She pulled out the first pair: black platforms with a heel about 3″ high. Clearly she had me mistaken for somebody else. I told her they were too high.
“Oh but they have platforms in them so they are not as high as they seem.”
I’ve heard that line before and I’ve always been skeptical. It’s like saying it’s not you it’s me or one puff never hurt anyone.
The second pair had just as much of a heel as the first. My friend ignored my protest and commented that they were made of satin. If I had a choice in the matter, I wanted cotton shoes. They’re light-weight, breathable and comfortable to dance in.
I didn’t see what the big deal was in wearing snazzy shoes anyway. People are only going to see the slightest bit of my shoes under my dress. This is not a job interview.
I didn’t know how to tell this friend that I just wasn’t that fashionable. I went from wearing combat boots and converse to cushiony slip-ons or the occasional slightly heeled Mary Janes. And that is as far as I’m willing to go.
I tried on the final pair of shoes and scowled. The shoes were cut low at the vamp, partially exposing my toes. It looked like the tentacles of an alien hiding in overpriced footwear.
“Oh, you’ve got toe cleavage,” she squealed. “That’s real sexy.”
I have already mentioned my “sexy” black and white dress that I wore to a club one night. One guy told me I looked like a pilgrim. That’s about as sexy as I get.
I took off the shoes.
My friend vowed to continue her search.
I told her to just pretend she was shopping for her grandma the next time she looked at shoes for me.