Picnics in Platforms

It was going to be our second date.  I was so excited because all I was told was - I'm picking you up at 7.  Of course I had to ask what I should wear.  I was told casual attire; jeans were ok.  That's all I got, no location, no whether food would be served.  Nothing.

I am sure all you girls out there can agree with me that when one planed for dressing for a date, the actual date plan/location was how the outfit was chosen. 

Drinks at a nice bar = sexy top, black pants or dark denim and sky high heels.
 
Drinks at a dive bar = still a sexy top (but one you did not care whether Sam Summer was spilled on it), jeans (again, ones you did not care too much about) and not such sexy heels because seriously, in a crowded dive bar, your date was not looking down at your shoes.

Dinner at a nice restaurant = a sexy dress and sky high heels.

You get my point.

So how was I supposed to dress?  I had never been swept off my feet like that before, so a date with nothing more then a time was new to me.

It was mid August in Boston, so the days were hot but the nights were getting cooler.  I decided on a pair of jeans I had purchased a few weeks ago.  They were long and lean and made my butt look good!  I chose a summery top and a light cardigan.  I decided to go a little "cuter" this time since I had done "sexy".  I wanted to show I could be versatile.

But what about shoes?  Shoes made the outfit - that is the mindset I always had.  I am sure many men would agree that they never really notice their date's shoes, but girls notice other girls' shoes.  I believe above the knees is for men, while below is for the women.  I know you agree.

I stood in my closet organizing my choices in my head.  If I wore a high heel and there was a lot of walking I could risk getting blisters.  Flip flops may be too casual and my jeans were too long for them anyway.  Sneakers, well those were out of the question*.

I scoured my shoe boxes looking for the perfect pair.  When I finally landed on pair of sandals.  Chinese Laundry natural colored raw silk wedge platforms.  I think I got them at Thom Brown on Newbury street during some crazy sale.  I think they may have been a half a size too small, but the clerk assured me they would stretch.  They were perfect (or so I thought).  They were the right length for my jeans, were still cute and were pretty comfortable (again, or as so I thought).

7 o'clock came and right on time my buzzer went off.

We were off on our surprise date and I was so excited.  He was dressed in jeans, a t-shirt and sneakers* so I felt as if I was dressed appropriately.  We were headed back towards the city (I lived in Coolidge Corner at the time).  He kept asking if I had any idea what we were doing.  I admitted I had none!

Passed Fenway - ok, no game.  Passed Newbury - I guessed dinner alfresco was out too.  When he pulled into the underground lot at the Public Gardens, I thought maybe a swan boat ride, wait it was 7pm - they were closed at that hour.

He parked.  We started heading out, when he stopped, said he forgot something and went back to the car.  Out of the trunk he pulled a picnic basket and blanket. Nice a picnic in the park.  How romantic.  Except I  followed him passed the park.  I was confused.  Where the hell were we going.  And seriously, my feet were killing me.  Said platform wedges were not so comfortable on such a warm night on a long walk to who knew where.  But I did not let on that there was a blister growing on my toe, but damn that clerk - they were not stretching.

We started to cross the footbridge over Storrow when I saw the Hatchshell up ahead.  I also saw some banners for a local oldies station and made some snide remark about old people on the esplanade, when we stopped at the lawn in front of the Hatch (well I felt like an ass).  I could not have been happier.  Not only because the surprise was too cute - we were actually watching a movie at the Hatch - Pirates of the Caribbean - its rated "Arhhhh", but also because we were at our destination and it was a place were I could take off my shoes, who had proceeded to give me two more blisters!

We had a great night.  The picnic was amazing - there was even my first piece of jewelry from him during dessert - a candy necklace is truly the way to a girl's heart. 

This was the date I fell in love.

On our walk back to the car (my feet a little better since I had patched them up with some bandages I found in my purse and the fact that the wine flowing through my system made the pain a little more bearable) I told him I had to confess something to him.  He stopped in the middle of the sidewalk and had look of hurt on his face.

I told him how though I loved the date and no one had ever done anything like that for me, for the love of god, if you plan on doing something like that again could you please give my feet a fair warning**!  He laughed.  I laughed.  We kissed and thus ended the perfect date.

...A few months ago I was cleaning my closet and found my pair of Chinese Laundry natural raw silk wedge platform sandals in a shoe box.  They had obviously been worn many times due to their wear, but seriously every time I wore them, they killed my feet - they NEVER stretched out.  I was ready to surrender them to their next owner - a co-worker with the same size extremities. 

Everytime I see her donning them around the office, I smile to myself and say, they're rated "Arhhh".

*Footnote - I believe that sneakers should not be worn on a date unless it is an obvious choice: i.e. - a long walk around the city in the afternoon, some active activity, a sporting event or if you have been dating for an extended period of time.  I know this is a little old school, but it works!  This rule does not necessarily apply to men as they do not have as many shoe options as women, as long as said sneakers are in good condition.

**He did do it again, a few times, with fair feet warnings.

Life isn't just black and white and neither are shoes

I had been away on a business trip and I was "late".  I was so excited to tell my husband the exciting news.  We wanted nothing more then to start our family.

I got down to business and scheduled my first Dr appointment.  Six weeks is a long time  - but even longer when you have a secret that nobody knows about.  The day finally arrived for my first visit and don't you know I put a lot of thought into what I was going to wear.

I wore a pair of cargo pants (since everything else I owned was getting to be too tight) and my off-white Sketchers Tone-Ups sweater clogs size 6.  Now, I never believed in the B.S. of Tone-Ups and to this day I still don't, but for a newly pregnant woman, there is nothing like a pair of shoes you can wear to work that feel like slippers!  Tone your butt - crap!  Make your already aching back feel pretty good after walking around all day - you better believe it!

I went to my appointment and was really glad I was wearing those shoes - simply for the amount of times I had to take them off and put back on!

Those were my go-to shoes during my pregnancy.  I wore them with cargo pants, jeans, sweatpants and I think I even tried to wear them with a dress - but realized I look truly ridiculous and there was no need to become a fashion faux pas.

I also owned a pair of the Sketcher Tone-Ups sweater clogs size 6 in black.  I donned them almost as much as the off-white ones.

But I have a different memory with the black pair...

I was going in for my 10 week check-up.  It was pouring rain in mid-April.  Spring hadn't quite sprung yet, so the sweater clogs were still fair game.

I was excited because at 10 weeks is when you can sometimes hear the heart beat and though this was still our little secret - it was going to be the time when we could start to tell our near and dear and to celebrate outwardly.

Except, there was nothing to tell.

1 in 4 pregnancies end in miscarriage and we were that one.

I was heart broken and just broken in general.

I remember as I trudged to my car in a stupor in the rain, how silly I was for wearing sweater clogs in this weather and not rain-boots.  My socks were soaked through and the bottom of my pants were all muddy.  Funny - the things you think about in a state of shock.

I did not tell this story because I am looking for sympathy, in fact, quite the opposite.  I am telling this because it is so common, yet no one talks about it, so when it happens, you sometimes feel so alone.  That is until people start coming out of the woodwork divulging that it happened to a cousin, a friend or even themselves.  I want people to know from the beginning that they do not need to feel alone and that there are many of us out there who have "walked in their shoes".

I am putting this out there because remember in those hard times that life is not always black and white  - and neither are shoes.

As a footnote I know someday soon, I will be donning those sweater clogs with a pair of cargo pants and a pregnant belly to boot!  (puns not intended)

My first paycheck circa 1997

I am a firm believer that it is not always the amount of money you spend on an item - sometimes its just how you wear it that counts.  One can mix a Gucci bag with a dress from Target and look like you came from the  pages of InStyle!  It is how the accessory makes you feel or the memory it induces that counts.

I definitely am not a "Carrie" when it comes to shoes.  As much as I would love to own a pair of Jimmy Choo's or Manolo Blahniks, I also know I really just can't justify spending that kind of money on something I may only wear a few times a month (that and I am pretty positive my husband would not be too happy seeing that on the AMEX bill).  But a pair of shoes at any cost, when purchased with your own money, no matter how expensive or cheap, definitely holds a special place in a girl's heart.

This brings me to October of 1997.  It was my first semester at college in Boston.  Early fall in New England just can't be beat.  The day-time is still warm enough for a tank top but the evenings bring in the crispness of the cold that is just around the corner.

It was a Friday afternoon and clutched in my hand my very first paycheck from the bath and beauty store I worked at in the back bay.  It wasn't much, maybe a couple hundred dollars from the 10-20 hours I worked between classes (less the soaps and lotions I purchased with my employee discount).  All I was thinking, as I shoved my ATM card in the machine and pressed "deposit" was that that check meant one thing - SHOES!

 I had drooled over the "newest" trend of the times as I passed the decorated windows on Newbury Street.  Florescent pointy-toed stilettos were back in fashion from the early 80s and I was determined to get myself a pair that afternoon.

I hopped on the Green line towards Downtown Crossing - I know I could have walked, but I was on a mission - to get a pair of fabulous shoes and then get home in time to get a quick nap in before heading out for a night of fun in said shoes.

I don't know if you are familiar with Macy*s in downtown Boston, but it is similar to that of the one in Herald Square, NYC - a crazy mess with all kinds of pushy tourists - but one of the BEST shoe departments in the city (this was before Nordstrom graced us with it's presence here in MA).  There are shoes as far as the eye can see.  It is a treasure hunt trying to find what you are looking for, as all the shoes have been moved, piled elsewhere (you'd find a kitten heel dress sandal deposited in the comfort/old lady section) and you can never find someone to help, which is so odd since they work on commission.

With all this said - I still knew Macy*s was the place for me to find my perfect pair.

Honestly, I really don't remember the details of the actual purchase.  I am sure there was some digging, some pushing and some eye rolling, but what I do know is that 14 years later I still have the prize that I so desired.

A pair of size 6.0 Chinese Laundry Hot Pink Stilettos.

I wore them everywhere and with everything. With jeans.  With black "booty" pants.  To class.  To the clubs.  I am pretty sure I wore them to some family event where my mom complained about them being too high and too pointy.

They killed my feet.  My toes were red and blistered by the end of the night.  I had to pack a wad of band-aides in my purse when I would go out.  But I didn't care.  They looked hot and I felt grown-up and sexy!

I can't bare to get rid of them.  They sit in the back of my closet in their box gathering dust.  One day they will be back in fashion - trends always come back.  And when that day comes I will pull out my hot pink shoes (and maybe some black booty pants) and feel 18 all over again!

...and then there were SHOES!

Like many women in their 30s - I have issues.  My god, who doesn't?  Life = issues.  However, in my case, what I really have are 'is-shoes".  Yes, against my husband's better judgment, I am OBSESSED with shoes.  It is a problem, I know, but isn't admitting that you have a problem one of the 12 steps?

There used to be a rule in our house (well, I actually think it still exists, but I kinda of ignore it sometimes), that if you bought a new pair of shoes - an old pair would need to go.  The idea that there would always be room and shoes would not pile up.  Great idea in theory, however, how do you choose?  How do you point to one pair of oldies but goodies and tell it that it can now be relieved of it's "shoey" duty and move on to it's next mission at the Goodwill or to a co-worker with the same size feet (who also seems to have same impeccable taste)?

One day, after being told numerous times that it was time to purge a pair or four, it came to me. The reason I was having such a hard time getting rid of shoes was that shoes = memories.
- My first real paycheck
- When my husband proposed
- A trip

The list goes on and on.  Though I have donated many pairs to Goodwill, said co-worker and I believe some nieces as well, I thought it could be kinda of fun to reminisce about my life though the "soles" of my many pairs of shoes.