Erica Lucke Dean

"Making the world a better place, one book at a time."

bibbity bobbity boo hoo hoo

What is that saying about March coming in like a lion and going out like a lamb?  I’m beginning to think that March doesn’t have a clue what it’s supposed to be doing!  In fact, March is behaving like a Polar Bear if you ask me. 

With only nine days left before April is officially heralded in, there was snow again in Atlanta, Georgia.  Did I happen to mention that this is Georgia?  In the south?  Where it almost never snows in December or January, but on March 22, 2010, there were unmistakable snow flurries dotting the sky yet again.  Of course, we’ve had our share of show this year—more than our fair share, I would argue.  So much so that I would seriously like to know what “they” did to so thoroughly piss off that groundhog this year!

I suppose that waking up in winter after having such a nice weekend didn’t help my already fragile mood.  The simple fact of that matter is…sometimes life just isn’t all that funny.  Sometimes it’s all we can do not to cry!  And sometimes we have to pull ourselves up by our boot straps and carry on.  I don’t even know what a boot strap is, but I’m tugging on mine as hard as I can just to stay afloat! 

It’s really ok to cry sometimes.  Often times it’s just what the doctor ordered.  Just go ahead and curl up into a tight ball in the middle of your bed, make sure all the lights are off and the door is shut, and let loose with a barrage of tears.  I like to throw in my favorite swear words, and yell at the top of my lungs about how no one understands, and no one listens, and no one really cares.  It’s all part of the therapy.  It’s a process.  Like mourning.

I am officially in mourning today. 

I had to say goodbye to my favorite pair of shoes.  I loved them, and they were once as stylish as they were comfortable, but apparently, they had passed their prime and I was told that it was time to put them to sleep.  

My favorite shoes had wooden wedge heels, and the stain was worn away across the back where the shoes rested when I would drive.  It left a mottled finish somewhere between blonde and nearly black.  The fine Italian leather—once a burnished black—had weathered slightly, losing its luster as the shoes became perfectly broken in for my feet.  But, the stitching was still tight…the shoes were still good! 

But alas no…too many times I had been told that they weren’t perfect enough for the outside world.

I didn’t want to let them go.   After all, they weren’t bad shoes, they weren’t even ugly shoes—they were just a little old.  And I think it’s really sad to have to part with something just because it’s not young and beautiful anymore.  After all, won’t we all be in that same position someday?  When I’m too tired to color my gray will I be set aside as unwanted?  When my joints creak and my skin wrinkles, will I be told that I am being replaced?  Isn’t there something to be said for standing the test of time?  Is there no prize for weathering adversity?  Apparently, I am the only one who has an appreciation for antiques.

So off to the shoe store I went to find a replacement pair. 

If there is a more depressing endeavor, I’m unaware of it.   Shoes are not what they used to be, and I am no Carrie Bradshaw!  I don’t wear a size six and a half shoe, nor do I care to pay three hundred dollars for a pair in the right size.  I am not interested in fashion for the sake of fashion.  I want something that does not induce tears after mere moments of walking.  I have no desire to behave like one of Cinderella’s horrible stepsisters, attempting to jam my toes into a beautiful shoe that is tantamount to a bear trap.  I want my shoes to afford some level of comfort in addition to their stylish appearance.  Where is that section of the shoe store? 

Apparently, shoe stores don’t have a fantasy section.

I had a hard time finding an assortment of shoes in my size that I could even select from.  And from that group there was an even smaller selection of shoes that even came close to fitting my required criteria.  From those shoes I selected one pair.  I wondered where my fairy godmother had gotten off to.  Why couldn’t she just pop in and wave a wand to change my old shoes into something pristine and wonderful on the outside while retaining the luxurious comfort on the inside? 

Right…so I slid my feet into the new shoes and my eyes welled up with tears.  These were nothing like my old shoes.  They couldn’t even compare to my old shoes in any category other than that they were both black.  I took them off, threw them back into the box and immediately paid for them and left the store before I broke down in more tears.  Shoe shopping is traumatizing.

I didn’t spend three hundred dollars, (not even close) but I did pay lot of money for a pair of shoes that aren’t even that comfortable.  They don’t pinch…much.  And they don’t hurt…constantly.  I can sit in them very comfortably, and they are very pretty.  But they are not my beloved old shoes that were no one’s favorites but mine.  I will wear the new shoes, because I have no choice, but I will miss my old shoes with every step I take.

Until the next time…I’ll be stocking up on band aids to go with my new shoes!

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