Struggling through with joy... |
kind of.
Struggling through with joy... |
I knew in the same way I knew when I first met my husband. I eyed you from afar for months, just as I stalked him online for weeks before our first date. A small spark in my mind whispered “Yes, yes,” the moment I slipped my feet into your soft grey foot beds, in much the same way I felt myself settle into my most comfortable self in his presence. I knew we would walk many miles together, you and I, just as my husband and I will walk together through life, sometimes arguing about whether we should eat at the fancy French restaurant or the taqueria. Taqueria will always win, just as you will always outstrip the black high-heeled booties.
You tell the world I haven’t quite given up on looking good with your smart black leather and dainty buckle, just like my husband tells the world we’re still cool with his worn punk rock t-shirts. Your sturdy soles and firm arch support let everyone know I don’t have the time or the knees for heels anymore, just as my husband’s sturdy hand on my back reminds me to turn off the bedside light because I don’t have the youth to handle late nights reading anymore. You are as comfortable with jeans as you are with a cute striped pencil skirt, and I can depend on you to carry me through the ups and down of bad outfit choices, just as I can depend on my husband to drive high mountain passes while I cling to my door in terror. My husband will balk at your price, but I will point out I am forsaking all other black shoes for you, just as I forsook all others for him. I will bag up those tacky heels and matronly faux alligator-skin Mary Janes now that you’ve come into my life, just as I joyfully gave up men who sought nutritional advice from animal spirit guides and told me I smiled too hard. We belong together, you and I, just as my husband and I do. By the time our relationship ends, you will be scarred and will probably smell awful. I hope the same will not be true of my husband, although he can produce some frightening smells after a meal involving beans. You will be worn at the heels and it is likely your straps will have been repaired at least once. I am going to wear the life out of you, much like I sometimes exhaust my husband with endless questions while menu planning and needs for reassurance when our children are sick. These relationships are rare and meant to be cherished. In the end, it doesn’t take much to live a happy life: a good pair of shoes and a kind man get me most of the way there.
4 Comments
3/16/2018 08:33:09 pm
I loved the parallelism and the sentiment. I wish there were a picture, but your words did absolutely describe. Wonderful slice!
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3/17/2018 02:28:20 pm
I do love a good pair of shoes! It feels so nice to slip into comfortable shoes. I often end up convincing myself they are appropriate for EVERY occasion! I need a picture of yours to help me shop for my next pair. :)
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3/17/2018 04:10:27 pm
The voice is so strong in this post. I love reading this commentary.I agree that sturdy soles and good arch support are important criteria. Soul mates for sure!
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Sonja Schulz
3/18/2018 09:00:16 am
love this ode to a great pair of shoes. I enjoy your writing style so much!
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