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Topic: Flat( 01/03/13)
Me and Shoes Broke Up
By Jody Day
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It started with my red, patent leather Mary Janes in the sixth grade. I stayed after school on Fridays for the sock hops, although nobody danced in their socks. I watched my beautiful, shiny shoes step slide to The Archies, blasting from a static dominated sound system. We didn’t dance rock and roll with partners in the sixth grade, and it’s a good thing because I just wanted to watch my shoes.
“How many times are you going to buy those shoes? Time for a different style,” my father said, in his ‘that’s the end of that’ tone. Fine.
I got the measles and had to stay home from school. Couldn’t read because my head hurt, so there was nothing to do but listen to the radio. “These boots are made for walkin’” sent my mind to dreaming about white, zip up go-go boots. Had to have ‘em. My calves were not like Nancy Sinatra’s so they wouldn’t zip up. That’s when I learned that shoes could let you down. But with love of my Mary Janes still in my heart, I continued to search for shoes.
High school and heels! Ah, the power of a good pair of pumps to boost your confidence in the Popularity Wars. Okay, it didn’t help that much, because sneakers that cost the same as a house were the footwear of choice. Not wealthy or athletic, I donned my artsy, snooty attitude against jocks and wore my platforms with pride.
Spikes supported me in college. You could kill somebody with those things. I loved them until a teacher, whose heels were the spikiest of all, took me aside to warn me. Said she’d been wearing the style so long that her leg muscles had atrophied. She couldn’t walk flat-footed but only on her tippy toes. Bummer. There was a Senior Citizen in one of my classes who had clear, acrylic platforms with little goldfish swimming around inside. I wasn’t quite ready for that.
Why did we break up? Because this morning I donned my newest favorite, red patent leather heels with a strap, and reminiscent of you know what. I headed across the church parking lot to join a group of friends visiting before a wedding. The heel broke off and I tripped. Landed flat on my face. I mean prostrate, sprawled out, face in the dirt flat. After all these years of faithful allegiance, shoes betrayed and humiliated me.
I am so mad at shoes!
So I’m done. It’s my bare feet and the cold, level land from now on. My daughter, Mary Jane, is horrified.
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