My red shoes

I kept those shoes in my closet for years and maybe wore them once. They were a brick red, and I had to have them. I was sure I was the red shoes type. They spoke to me. But when I wore them, all I could think about were my feet. They glowed in those shoes. I felt like everyone was staring at them. They were speaking to me all right. They were yelling, “Whose bright idea was this? How much did you spend to find out you are not a red shoes girl?”

I have tried on red shoes many times since then but always

PETS chickened out. It was just too hard to pick the right shade of red. Or maybe I was afraid of the glow.

I remember a pair of aqua-colored moccasins that I had to have. They were beautiful. I wore them once with gray corduroy pants and once with khakis. They didn’t look right with either. For two years I looked for pants to match and failed. The shoes sat in my closet until the leather started to rot. I just couldn’t give up on them.

Third down in my hanging shoe holder in the spare bedroom is my pair of bejeweled flip-flops. They are turquoise and over the top even for flip-flops. I was going to Jamaica for a family wedding and was sure I would wear them one evening in my elegant terrycloth bathing suit cover-up. It had been years since I had worn flip-flops, and I had forgotten the rule about breaking in your toes before hitting the sand.

Sand is really sandpaper without the paper. And it does a good job of rubbing the skin off whatever part of the foot touches the flip-flop. The jewels sparkled, but the footwear had to go. I have kept them, maybe to remind me I am neither a turquoise flip-flop girl nor a jewels-on-the-feet type.

WEEK My dressy heels are neither very dressy nor much in the way of heels. But, I can make it

through a reception without pain meds. In that

same hanging shoe bag is a pair of heels that

falls under the “What were you thinking?” category. I call them my half shoes. There is leather that goes around the heel and a strap connecting it to another strap across the toes.

When I put them on and hold on to the wall to steady myself, I am considerably taller but can’t leave the wall. I can’t have my picture taken in them either. I can’t keep fear and pain off my face.

This year the tennis shoe has gone glam. The old style “tennies” I used to keep white with shoe polish have given way to all colors of the rainbow and different types of glitter. My tennis shoes are “cross-trainers” and white and gray. No glitter. No rainbowcolored laces. They are supposed to turn me into a tennis player – I am still waiting.