I just came back from a couple of days State-side. The 5 of us, plus 3 more from my side of the clan, all loaded into our modes of transport and headed south of the boarder to celebrate a friend’s nuptials. Yes, the wedding was lovely, and the weather was great. The kids did really well on our journey – thank you for asking!
This post however, is not about any of those details.
This post is about shopping for shoes.
We spent some time in a local mall on the day of the wedding, not wanting to be too far from where we needed to be that evening. And they had a couple of my favourite shoe shopping places. And really – when does a girl *not* need a pair of shoes? Exactly. Never. So of course, I went in along with my sister, my Mom, my niece and my daughter.
While I was perusing the aisles for the illusive basic, black, everyday shoe that I’ve been looking for on-again, off-again for the past 2 years, I was struck by how my 20 year old self would be dying of embarrassment over the shoes I was looking for. Actually, that didn’t occur to me until I was pondering whether or not a shoe like this is what I was wanting:
Don’t get me wrong: I still think this shoe looks like it would fit the bill perfectly for me. My 20 year old self though… well, it’s not like I rocked stilettos or anything in my youth; I surely did not.
This was more my style:
Okay, that was in my late teens. You’re right: in my 20’s it was more like this:
I “came of age” in the grunge era. I wore mismatched flannel shirts with dirty jeans. I wore long johns and worker socks and baggy sweaters. And yeah, I had some heels, but they were more like this:
Cute, right? I know. So anyway, in my 20’s I thought I had style with an edge. I listened to Oasis, I drank G&T’s or Guinness; some times both on the same night! I went to bars like Velvet Underground or (s)Lime Light for the retro 80’s night. I lived in an awesome city and when I met people my age who lived in the surrounding suburbs, I would say to them, “Oh – I’m so sorry!” and laugh and laugh…
Which brings me back to my shoe quest. Which, it turns out, is probably more about me making peace with being a subrurban-dwelling, mini van-driving, stay-at-home-mom than it is really about the shoe.
I guess the combat boots just kicked the shit outta my urban self when my arches fell? Yeah, let’s go with that.