She So Funny

My teeth clenched, my fists balled, my toes curled at the question. I pointed downward and with a nearly casual tone said, "These?" My silver sneakers gripped my feet in shiny sleek self-defense or was it warning?

Lara's question sent my sensitivity meter to the red zone of childhood hurts. Remembering when 3 years in a row my shoe size was the same as my age and there were no shiny Mary-Janes size 9 for me.

My childhood shoe store humiliation ritual was in two parts. 1st the cold steel plate with bars that measured width and engraved numbers measuring length. I'd place my foot close to the heel cup thinking, "No one expects the Spanish Inquisition." At least not at Buster Brown shoe store. Part 2 was the salesman's inevitable announcement that my desired shoe, "Doesn't come in my size."

Crestfallen as my arches, I endured this ritual through adulthood to an ambivalent plateau of size 10. Why ambivalent Rhonda? Some pretty styles actually come in size 10. Because shoe stores only get 3 pairs of pretty style shoes in size 10, usually ALL sold-out on day of arrival. 

Years ago, a fall at a broken curb ended my lifetime affair with high heels but manic monitoring and frantic shop visits offer on occasion a rare, lovely flat to break up my clunky footwear monotony.