Loose Ends
Shooooes
Susan Nienow

What - my shoe rack is full? What about the one in the guest room closet? It's full, too? And those shoeboxes on top of my closet - all have shoes in them, too? This is me talking to me. I would never talk to my other half about not having enough room for all of my shoes. He would just become a tower of logic.

"I have a pair of black shoes, brown shoes and tennis shoes. Who needs more than that?" he has said more than once.

He has two pairs of each - everyday and dress shoes. His shoe rack has six spots and one is empty. I don't know how he makes it through the week with only five pairs of shoes.

He has lived with me for several decades and still doesn't realize that this woman needs shoes. Just last weekend, we went to an evening thing, and I bought a dressy pair of shoes. They were perfect but relegated to sit-down events in the future. I was hobbled for two days after getting that dressed up.

The best shoes are those on sale - a bargain and one that I have to take advantage of or regret it forever. A slight exaggeration but I still refer to those black suede shoes I didn't buy as "the ones that got away."

I was destined to live in a four-season state - shoes for each season. My other half doesn't understand that "winter white" means WINTER white. And that I need white shoes for summer, and the color is white - not summer white.

"What about fall and spring," he asked. "No white?" I just ignored him. He is treading on thin ice. I really don't need a shoe analysis from him.

For fall, I need brown, black, tan, rust - shoes in that color family. "Color family?" he snorted.

"Find something to do," I said as I examined my closet, hoping more space would miraculously appear the next time I blinked. The immediate problem is that I bought two pairs of shoes a few weeks ago and then two more when I found myself in a shoe store one day - and then one more when a certain department store well-known for its shoes had a shoe sale.

I know. Five new pairs of shoes not counting those dressy, certain-to-cripple-you-in-five hours-or-less, shoes. That makes six. "Just get rid of the ones you never wear anymore," he advised from the next room.

"Find something to do farther away," I called back. I set aside those denim covered slides that won't stay on my feet. I love them off but not on. And I added those funny taupe/mauve shoes that looked brown in the store and the work boots my other half talked me into. Work boots? I did find seven pairs I could part with. Seven - that means one empty slot!

"Put one pair back," said a voice from the other room.