BulgingButtons

Not bad for a fat girl


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Too Many Shoes?

I’m trying to simplify my life, but I have an event to go to this weekend, and I found the prefect dress for it. The only problem is that it’s navy blue and white.

“Why is that a problem?” you ask (of course if you’re a woman you already know). Yep. Shoes.

shopping-1.jpgWhat shoes to wear? I don’t have any navy blue or white shoes. I don’t even have a neutral shoe. Black. Black. And black. Oh, and some magenta ones I should really get rid of, because they hurt.

I wear a wide width (yeah, I know, no surprise) so shoe shopping is about as much fun as any other type of clothing shopping, which is to say not very fun at all. In fact, the dress came to me in the mail, hand-picked by my Dia & Co stylist. Now that, I like.

Anyway, cute dress, no shoes. That sums up my outfit, except that I need to wear shoes. In fact I need shoes (and outfits) for several events this weekend:shopping.jpg

  1. Religious service followed by semi-casual dinner
  2. More formal religious service followed by luncheon
  3. Dinner and PARTAY!!!
  4. Casual brunch

So you see, going barefoot just wouldn’t work. I needed shoes.

I finally sucked it up and went shoe shopping. Oh, that is NOT fun. Not for me anyway. I went to five stores and came up with three pairs of shoes. Why three? 165449_6_1400x1400.jpgWell, one of them had a BOGO deal going on, and I was having trouble deciding, so for ten dollars more I splurged. Now I own two pairs of brown sandals (either pair will work, trust me) and a pair of light blue flats (which will also work, I swear). Now to try on the dress with all three and figure out which ones will get the spotlight. Then I’ll build some outfits around the others, because really, those shoes deserve to be worn.


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Goodbye Zebra Mules

I should have said goodbye years ago, but I just wasn’t ready. In fact I sort of forgot about them. Oh sure, I saw them in my closet everyday, but they were just sort of there. I wasn’t wearing them. They were too snazzy, the heels too high.zebra-ron-magnes

I remember when I got them. I fell in love instantly. They were the most ridiculously impractical shoes you could imagine. Faux zebra skin mules with silvery faux snakeskin trim. They sound hideous. They were fabulous.

I remember when I first laid eyes on them. I didn’t need zebra print mules, I mean, who really does? But I had to have them. They were too wonderful to pass up, and they were reasonably priced. Sold!

I wore them from time to time, and every time I got compliments on them. Of course, as sort of a novelty item, they didn’t come out of my closet often.

At some point they just kind of gave out. They gave me several years of service, but the weight I expected them to bear was too much. One of them split from the sole along the side. I told myself a shoemaker could fix it, but I never got around to taking them in. I put them aside, but held on to them. Someday, I would have them fixed. Someday.

Tonight I tried on my new dress. Wow. It looked fantastic and I felt like a million bucks, but I needed shoes. There they were! The old zebra mules called to me. They would be the perfect compliment to the dress. I slipped them on and they looked fantastic, except they felt weird. Oh yeah, the side was split. Damn.

Time to face facts. I will never take those shoes to be repaired. Their time has passed. They served their purpose. Tonight I said goodbye to them. They were fabulous shoes and I loved them, but now I have room in the closet for a new pair. Hopefully I can find a pair just as fantastic.


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My Poor Aching Feet

k5286114The other night my dear mother took me out for a night out in honor of my father’s birthday. He passed away more than a decade ago, but we still celebrate his birthday. We ate a delicious dinner, then enjoyed the opera at Symphony Hall. It was a fine, elegant evening.

Here’s the thing, though, my feet are killing me as a result. We parked in a garage near the opera hall and walked two blocks to the restaurant. Two blocks. Not even long blocks. Short blocks. Tiny blocks. Hardly even blocks at all. It was fine. Not a problem. I mean, I didn’t walk quite as quickly as mom, but her heels weren’t quite as high as mine. At least I don’t think they were.

They aren’t really that high, those heels. I would call them a “moderate” heel. They’re a cute pair of peep-toe sling-backs. I’ve worn them on many occasions, and they dress up an outfit beautifully. I hadn’t worn them recently, though. Apparently the last time I wore them I was younger and lighter. Well, younger for sure, I’m not sure about lighter.

I began to realize that they might not have been the best choice as we descended the metal stairs from the fourth level of the parking garage. As I clanged my way down my toes began to feel a little pinched. No big deal, I thought, I can handle this. I was happy to arrive at the restaurant and take my seat. I didn’t give my tootsies another thought until we were on our way back to Symphony Hall. Holy cow, my mom can move for a woman her age. I did my best to keep up. How embarrassing.

We got there early so we milled around the lobby before the doors were opened for seating. Finally we headed inside the theater proper. Our seats were on the aisle, so we kept popping up to allow people to go by. By the time the lights went down I was ready to remove my shoes. I didn’t though, because I knew putting them back on would be worse. The good news is the performance was magnificent, and had my full attention.

Intermission, on the other hand, was miserable.  We hustled off to the ladies room along with every other woman in that theater, and stood in line. Fortunately it moved quickly, because by this point my feet just plain hurt. Normally my mother likes to wander the lobby. She often bumps into an acquaintance or two. These little exchanges make me somewhat uncomfortable under the best of circumstances, but add in achy feet, and I took a pass. I think mom was a bit disappointed, but she joined me back at our seats.

The second act was just as wonderful as the first, and the standing ovation was well deserved, if not comfortable. Then came the walk back to the parking garage and the climb up the metal stairs to the fourth level. Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow.

I think I may have to swear off heels for a while, until there is less of me to support on the balls of my feet. My honey doesn’t exactly tower over me, so I usually choose flats anyway these days. Maybe I’ll send those heels packing. They have served their purpose, and they no longer meet my needs. Meanwhile, my poor feet are still aching. Tomorrow I think I’ll wear tennis shoes.