It's All About the Shoes

I am a shoe girl. This means my shoes are VERY important to me. While I am not one of those women who spend tons of money on a single pair of shoes, I have certainly spent my fair share on several pairs of fashionable footwear. Where some women covet certain designer clothes, I covet certain types of shoes. When we moved I paired down my shoes, quite literally. It broke my heart, but I needed to participate in the downsizing of household items, even my shoes. I am the type of woman who could easily spend hours shopping for the perfect shoes for a single outfit. I love all the colors, heel sizes, strappy versus non-strappy, open toed versus closed toe, and patent leather versus mat. If I buy a dress, you can bet your bottom dollar the shoes are not far behind. I confess, I have never bought a single dress without knowing I would also be shopping for the perfect shoes.
Having admitted this, which is the first step toward recovery, I must also tell you, I have made several huge shoe faux pas while traveling. Of course, I packed the appropriate shoes for the trip, only to find myself in a predicament where my feet became massive causalities in unforeseen adventures. One example was back in 2002 when we went on a family vacation to San Francisco. Michael has never let me forget how ridiculous I looked without my proper foot attire. Michael decided we would walk everywhere we could not take public transportation. I had packed my favorite very comfortable sandles. This normally would have been fine if we had been anywhere except the hill capital of the world. We walked for three solid days up hills and down hills. I hadn't packed a single pair of socks or tennis shoes. It never occurred to me that the excessive climbing would effect my feet the way it did. After day two, my feet were basically bloody stumps. Desperate for some relief, I borrowed a pair of my daughter's socks, yes, oh dear God, to wear with my sandles, since I had no other shoes. The other issue which added to my nightmarish fashion was I had no idea how cold it was out west in August. I took shorts with only a single pair of cropped pants. I was freezing, crippled and quickly losing my pleasing personality. When I walked out of our hotel room, I was sporting these horrifying loose cropped pants and socks with sandles. Did I mention the many cameras I had hanging around my neck? As you can imagine, no one in my family stood anywhere me. We went to China town for lunch and the family doubled over laughing at me and my crazy clothes. Insert a thousand jokes of your choice.
Last fall I once again fell into the shoe trap, but I still, to this day, contend it was not my fault. I had the proper shoe attire for the activity, carefully planning so as not to repeat the San Francisco disaster of 2002. I had on a pair of hiking shoes I bought specifically for climbing hills, mountains and the like. Mike and I have been together long enough for me to know not to wear anything on my feet that is remotely attractive when we are outside. We were hiking on our first day in Arkansas, when without cell phones or any kind of map, we got lost on the side of the mountain. What started off as a leisurely hike, ended up with us hiking for hours trying to get our bearings from the position of the sun. With most of the day gone, we finally found our way back to the path that would lead to the car. My feet were once again bloody, blistered, unrecognizable gnarled stumps.
Michael has instilled in me the need to pack light. For a shoe girl this makes for some interesting choices. It is pure hell for me to pack what I need instead of what I want. But since he is adamant, I do my best to keep my shoes to a minimum. Since my feet would no longer fit in my hiking shoes due to the overwhelming swelling, I needed to go to the nearest super store and buy what I can only describe as granny tennies, befitting someone who eats at four o'clock, and wears track suits. I got these hideous white shoes, with Velcro closures, flat soles in extra wide. I wore them for days until the swelling in my feet subsided. I wore them with everything. My large, discolored feet would not squeeze into anything that even remotely looked like MY shoes. I finally got to wear my own shoes again on the next to last day of a two week trip.
Today, I purposely bought the most ugly shoes I have ever seen in my life. I needed tennis shoes and was putting off the purchase until I could get the ugliest shoes which boasted they would work out your legs and butt while you walk. Normally, I would be put completely off buying something like this just because of the amount of ugly, but I am trying to reshape my body, battling nature and gravity. I will gladly take all the help I can get. I already walk several miles a day, so if I can increase the amount of exercise I get, then sign me up. I was looking down at my orthopedic monsters. As I was sweating profusely, all I could think of was, "This better be worth it!" My new shoes look like corrective shoes rather than the usual fun and fashionable footwear I love putting on. In my head I kept saying, "Run, Forest, run!"
I am consoling myself with the idea that not many will see me in my klunky butt building shoes. I walk when most people are at work, so few if anybody will even know I have them, except for this blog of course, which is international, crossing over into countries I have only dreamed of. I figure if they read this, they too are may be considering the ugly shoes in order to cheat the system.
I can say at least this time I am wearing the abject ugly on purpose in the privacy of my own neighborhood, instead of hundreds or thousands of miles away from home. I know for certain I will once again sport some ludicrous clothes or shoes due to a packing failure. I know that Michael who never has such comic moments or ever looks out of place will have the laugh of a lifetime at my expense. Being the reigning queen of Dorkdom, this will remain my lot in life. All I am really hoping for at this point is that my newest uglies will help at least my body to look OK while I am sporting my crown.
For the record there is no photographic proof of the San Fran debacle, I checked just in case. This is why I am the one who takes most of the pictures on our trips.