When I was in my early teens, I fantasized about owning a wardrobe of Leprechauns. Not the little green creatures who wreak havoc, but the shoes. As I remember them, they were ballet-styled slip-ons, very flat, with pointy toes. They came in many colors, and I wanted a pair in each.
Mom wasn't in favor of my getting one pair of Leprechauns, much less pairs in every color. Although price may have been a contributing factor, her real concern was the shoe style didn't have proper support for my feet. This was huge with her because I'd been diagnosed with some problem in how my feet were developing, and we'd had numerous arguments regarding my having to wear the hideous pointy-toed brown and black saddle shoes which housed feet-correcting hardware and made my adolescent feet look like a man's. Eventually I did acquire a pair of my dream shoes, in the practical shade of navy. And surprise! They really weren't that comfortable. Or flattering. When looking down at my flat feet, the shoes I'd pined for made my feet look...fat. I'm pretty sure I never admitted any of this to Mom.
Mom wasn't in favor of my getting one pair of Leprechauns, much less pairs in every color. Although price may have been a contributing factor, her real concern was the shoe style didn't have proper support for my feet. This was huge with her because I'd been diagnosed with some problem in how my feet were developing, and we'd had numerous arguments regarding my having to wear the hideous pointy-toed brown and black saddle shoes which housed feet-correcting hardware and made my adolescent feet look like a man's. Eventually I did acquire a pair of my dream shoes, in the practical shade of navy. And surprise! They really weren't that comfortable. Or flattering. When looking down at my flat feet, the shoes I'd pined for made my feet look...fat. I'm pretty sure I never admitted any of this to Mom.
Two years ago I came across some ballet-style shoes on the internet. These were not ordinary ballet-style shoes; they were hip, uber cool, in-demand. Oprah had some. They folded in half into their own little matching sacks so they could be tossed into a busy woman's tote. A pocket in the pouch held little pant clips to be used for keeping folded-up pant hems in place when women exchanged their fashionably high heels for the darling little flats during long, tiring workdays. And the shoes were available in a kaleidoscope of incredible hues, including animal prints and glitter! It's true I worked my long, tiring workdays from home - often in pjs, and I seldom donned heels higher than 1 1/2 inches even for the dressiest of occasions. I would have to wear the shoes daily for at least two years to bring the cost-per-wearing in line with my clothing budget. Yet, if I purchased a pair in say, basic black, they would last me a lifetime. So I did.
Well surprise. They weren't that comfortable. Or flattering. When I looked down at my (still flat) feet, they looked...fat. My granddaughter was delighted to offer the shoes a new closet to call home: hers.
Well surprise. They weren't that comfortable. Or flattering. When I looked down at my (still flat) feet, they looked...fat. My granddaughter was delighted to offer the shoes a new closet to call home: hers.
I sometimes have trouble letting go of an idea. So when I noticed some vaguely ballet-styled flats in the local Sears, I paused. They came in several colors. I tried on a pair in denim blue. Hmmm.. they seemed comfortable. I took them home. Then I went back to the store and bought another pair in black. And red. And brown. Then I purchased a back-up pair in black, in case they're no longer made when my first pair of black ones wear out. Because, they are comfortable.
And when I look down? Ah well. Flat feet ARE fat feet.
And when I look down? Ah well. Flat feet ARE fat feet.
