"Woman," I said. "Woman, heal thyself."
So I bought these shoes, see...
We were supposed to be looking for material for the bridal party dresses. The thing is, we were all so happy with the fabric we'd chosen 3 days previous, that I just couldn't get excited about comparison shopping. And so, in an only slightly treacherous act, I wandered away from the bridal party, following the siren song to a whole different part of the store. The walls were full - full - of leather straps and ribbons attached to highly impractical heels, as well as tiny wee purses that would fit nothing more than 1 lipstick, 2 condoms and a wad of tip money for cab drivers and bellboys.
The Maid of Bitter was in heaven.
And honestly, I only meant to try them on. They were a heady mix of eggshell and mauve snakeskin, with a classic '40's shape and three inches of Betty Grable heel. I snuck a little cha-cha, imagining them under dance-floor denim and pencil skirts at dinner, clack-clack-clacking up the street, around the room, across the stage, anywhere but down the aisle.
And now they're mine, sitting in their rightful place in my closet.
Woman, heal thyself indeed. Not yet, but now I'm thinking of changing my hair colour...
* * *
I love this kind of stuff, dolls. So heed the week and say hello, yeah? New South Wales! Emiglia-Romania! Lambeth! Calgary! Kalamazoo! You strong, silent types - come out and give me some sugar, baby.
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