In her shoes…

Ever feel like you’ve stepped in someone else’s shoes?

Figuratively, I do it all the time.

I’m not exactly Melanie Griffith shoving her swollen feet into Reebok hightops as she steps aboard the Staten Island ferry, but I am a working girl. (intern)

I’m not exactly Kate Middleton slipping her manicured toes into LK Bennett pumps, but I am a London girl. (expat)

I’m not exactly Imelda Marcos surveying a vast closet stuffed with shoes in every conceivable color, but I am a shoe-a-holic. (truly)

And so, I threw on a new fabulous pair of open toe, black suede, lace up high heels for dinner on Saturday night.  They were to die for…and I don’t mean because of the physical pain of standing in them. These were the perfect pair of shoes to sit in leisurely not to walk in actively.  I wasn’t exactly Cinderella, but I did feel transformed. And as they say: Cinderella is proof that a new pair of shoes can change your life. (Or give you a shattering hangover).

I blame my evening on the shoes.

Dinner in my new shoes led to cocktails in a bar led to dancing in a nightclub led to drinking wine late into the night at a friend’s house.  By 2:00 am my new shoes were under the couch upon which I had become a potato.

And so I literally walked (ok, staggered) home in someone else’s shoes.

I stuffed my bloated, tired feet into my friend’s sensible loafers, careened home, and wobbled my key into the lock.  I nearly collapsed against the door to find the chain locked across it, barring my entry.  My daughter had come home late from the pub with friends and assumed her old parents were in bed.

I had to ring the bell, sending Lucy into a barking frenzy and waking up my sensibly sleeping girls.  Roles were reversed when my 19 year old stomped into the hallway, hands on hips, scowling as she scolded, “DO YOU KNOW WHAT TIME IT IS?  WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN?!”  The irony was not lost on me as I tipsily giggled past her glowering stare.

The next morning, as my sodden head sank miserably into my pillow, my husband hoarsely mumbled to me, “We’re too old for this.”

Say it ain’t so.  After all, I may be one year older today, but I’m still young at heart.

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Growing old is mandatory.  Growing up is optional.

Bring on the high heels!

 

 

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