Skip to main content

Like an old shoe



   So I was waiting for UPS to deliver my plus-size paisley swimsuit for the third day in a row and I was completely deflated to find it didn’t arrive … again. If my mother taught me anything it was that the squeaky wheel gets the grease and my time is money, so I did what she would do and called the “company.” The girl on the other end of the phone was as sweet as Log Cabin syrup and couldn’t figure out what went wrong. We delved a little further into the mystery only to discover that I had given my new address in full, except I had used the old street name from Syracuse. Gee, those darn UPS guys can’t seem to find the same street in Vineyard Haven, Massachusetts. What a bunch of chowda heads. So I guess the rest of the beach-goers will have to wait a few more days before I make my entrance.
   You would think that after that little setback I’d maybe lay off the online shopping for a while. Right now I’m staring at my “Persistence prevails when all else fails” poster, which we lived by at my old job. I’m not a quitter.
   I decided a few weeks ago that I need to have the fashionable and sensible Dansko clogs. I need these because everyone else on the Island has them. I guess the rest of the women on the planet have finally found out what I knew 35 years ago; a clog is about the most comfortable shoe a girl can wear. Oh sure I’ve been ridiculed for wearing clunky footwear but I never let it get me down. And now they’re everywhere you look.
    There’s a little bit of a sticking point though. I believe they retail for just under $120. Now I love a good shoe, I’m wearing my Birkenstocks as I type this for God’s sake. The problem is that I can justify having only one pair of shoes over $100 at a time. I can’t possibly have another, even though my feet are shaped like Fred Flinstone’s and I pay my husband in cookies for a good foot rub.
   My mission now is to find a Dansko knock-off in my price range. This led me to another revelation about my current life: How did I get from grabbing some random loafers at K-mart to typing “comfortable shoes for women” in Amazon’s search box? Have I gotten that old?  I even said aloud the other day to my husband, “You know, my mom ended up wearing orthopedic shoes when she worked at the post office,” like it was a good idea and I might give it a whirl myself. I don’t know where this stuff comes from. It’s like I’ve thrown the towel in and I didn’t even know I was carrying one. Whew.
   Just when I began to think I should maybe Google “psychiatrists on Martha’s Vineyard,” it occurred to me that there’s a freedom to saying, “Oh to hell with it. I’m going to wear some ugly-assed shoes so my feet don’t hurt. I’m going to quit dying my hair because it feels like a wire brush from all the chemicals. I’m going to wear socks with my sandals in the fall because they are the only shoes that don’t hurt my feet. I’m going to wear shorts when it’s hot even if they do ride up my thighs when I walk. I’m going to wear my hair in a ponytail every day even though I’m 51 because I can’t afford a haircut on this island. I’m going to wear huge clothes because I have never been able to tolerate anything too tight. Hey, I’m just going to give up and do what I want. Hell, yes.”
   Wasn’t it James Brown who said, “Mmmmm, I feel good”? I always liked him. I bet he had some crazy shoes. 


   These are my new shoes. They're good shoes. They won't make you rich like me, they won't make you rebound like me, they definitely won't make you handsome like me. They'll only make you have shoes like me. That's it. - Charles Barkley


 


Comments

Popular posts from this blog

He sells sea shells, I wish

   So now rather than being obsessed with fake fingernails I can’t afford, I’m becoming obsessed with checking this blog. I’m pretty sure all 52 views were made by either me or my husband.   That leads me right into the current situation at hand. We need friends. We’re desperate for them. I’ve started handing out my telephone number to people I meet while doing my meager freelance work. They think it’s for the story I’m writing but really it’s in hope that someday they’ll find a reason to call and then I can hit them with, “By the way, do you play cards? Bingo? Gin Rummy?” If I wasn’t so arthritic I’d throw Twister in there.    It’s not so much for me, it’s my husband who likes to have people around. I have become hermit-like since moving here while he has become convinced we could die here and not be found for months. He had friends back in Syracuse but he chose to stay home at night with his loving wife. Now all of a sudden I get the impression he’d hightail it out of here a

Christmas Stockings

     In case you haven’t noticed, Christmas is coming. All the winter holidays are coming, and we can’t even escape.      Usually by this time I've made a trip to Walmart, off the island of course, and purchased plenty of wrapping paper, tape, pajama pants, toothbrushes, and Hershey Kisses to stuff at least ten stockings.            This year, we opted to spend our reserves going to Maine in October, a decision I thought we might regret come December. But I don’t really regret it. My children are what I would call “grown-assed kids” now, and I don’t worry about the stuff under the tree as much. Unfortunately for them.            I still love Christmas though. It’s not even about presents, although my grown-assed children still gather under the tree Christmas morning. (And I will do everything within my power to see to it that they continue to do this until they reach the age of 72.)            There’s just something about it all. The togetherness. The quantity of dip I prepare

Life of the Party

   So I picked out my funeral music years ago. It features Steppenwolf in the forefront. I'm pretty sure I can think of some Syracuse priests who would bend a couple of rules and blast some Magic Carpet Ride for me. Believe me, they've done worse. That's why I love them. Anywho, I do spend more than a little time thinking about how I'd like my "after party" to play out. I'm nothing if not morbid. These things are important to me.    First of all, I want a kegger. Absofuckinglutely. And I want there to be all manner of food just like I like it. Huge portions, bottomless red plastic cups. You get the picture. The music is key and must include Steppenwolf, a fantastic Motown medley, Mony Mony, maybe a Monkees song, a little Led Zeppelin and definitely some Levon Helm. And if there's time left and people are feeling sappy, a couple of Van Morrison songs. I'm thinking as I write this that I want to go to this party. Jeez.    And you know I'll be t