Tuesday, August 15, 2006

Discovering the Mothership...

I've never been a girlie girl. Give me a pair of jeans and a t-shirt any day over some frou-frou wrinklable cotton top with a skirt that I have to sit properly in.

My childhood as a tomboy meant that I thought my baby blue polyester shorts when I was six were the coolest thing ever and that I'd wear them until the day I died. I've since outgrown that love of polyester, but I haven't outgrown my love of comfort. As I sit here, I'm wearing a ponytail, an unmade up face, shorts and a workout t-shirt.

Women are supposed to love shoes. That's the rule. If you have a vagina, you are also bred to love shoes. To have hundreds of shoes. Dozens of shoes of the same color and similar styles, in order to fight with the boyfriend/hubby who doesn't understand your love of the shoes.

I didn't get that gene. I guess it's better that I miss out on the shoe gene than on the chocolate gene, because I really think my entire existence would have been sad without my love for chocolate. Don't make me pick between Baby Boy and a chocolate-free existence. These are choices that I shouldn't have to make. That would be my Sophie's Choice.

But back to shoes.

I've never had a love for shoes. I couldn't care less about them because they go on feet, and I hate feet. This probably doesn't make sense, because you'd think I would love anything that hides nasty gross feet. But my mind is not logical.

Some of you may remember my once discussing my thinking I'd never want a baby. And then one day, I woke up and my uterus hurt so much from being empty that I had to get pregnant right there and then.

And a couple of weeks ago, whatever body part needed to be awakened (I'm going to guess this isn't my uterus' work) woke up very suddenly. You see, I entered a magical place called the Shoe Pavillion.

And that's when horns played and angels sang and my pulse quickened. Shoes, shoes, magical shoes! If Dorothy were looking for a pair of ruby slippers, she'd find them at The Shoe Pavillion. This place would put the love of shoes into anyone, even a hardcore foot hater like me. And I was Baby Boy free that day and so I was able to walk up and down each aisle, caressing the pretty shoes, laughing at the few ugly ones, and slipping my big nasty feet into more pairs of shoes than I'd ever owned.

That day, I did something I've never done before: I bought three pairs of shoes.

Gasp. What? Say it isn't so.

Yes, children. It's true. And here's the best part. None of these shoes would fall in the convenient category. One pair laces up my calf, making me feel like a ballerina without going over board like Lara Flynn Boyle at the Emmys years ago. One pair is this delicate t-strap, with a slim heel, complete opposite of the fat chunky heels I've been fond of through all my 20's. And the last pair is completely impractical. High heeled, showing a whisper of toes, made of denim and tapestry. And I love them most, because they are so un-me.

I talk about how motherhood has changed me in more ways than I ever expected. I accept the stretch marks, the scars, the crying every time an injured child is on television. And I've chosen to embrace this new passion for shoes.

The Shoe Pavillion, here is my soul. Please take good care of it.

Love,

Catwoman.

2 comments:

random_mommy said...

welcome to the dark side. we've been expecting you.

Catwoman said...

Who knew the dark side had such great fashion style.