ATTACK OF THE KILLER SIDEWALKS (orig. published on myspace, April 6, 2006)

It's 11 am. Do you know where your hip professional shoes are?

Yesterday I noticed a coworker wearing some hiiiiigh platform gold sandals with a strap studded with rhinestones running down the middle of her foot. I'd like to give her the benefit of the doubt. Perhaps she was having an 'Amelia Bedelia at the Office' moment; perhaps the first time she wore them, some construction worker yelled at her, "WORK IT, GIRL!" and she took his advice to mean, Oh, I should wear these to work... Anyway, I was staring at the shoes, so I obviously had to say something. I did the natural thing and made up some wild story about how I had a very similar pair of shoes in white, but I hadn't worn them yet because my feet would be killing me by the time I got to work. Suddenly, she comes alive. She leans her head in to me, squints one eye expressively, and with punctuated emphasis warns me that THIS CITY WILL KILL YOUR SHOES!!! Another coworker pipes up: "It's true! It just isn't safe to wear your shoes out on the sidewalks." They're both nodding ferociously, knowingly.

I admit to fabricating the possession of the white twins to my coworker's shoes, but I am serious about how serious these women were about the death of my shoes. We could easily have been talking about snipers, muggers, peeping toms, or rapists. I mean, whats more important in life? the integrity of your virtuous body or the safety of your wedges, peep-toes, and sling-backs? I think we all know the answer to that one. Bullet wounds heal, but when the wedge of your 9 West Mystic white sandal (no longer in production) splits, theres nothing for it. Its gone.

Well, I know that city streets are no place for young heels, thus, rather than navigating the grates on the way to the metro and back, I keep them tucked into my cushiony bag for safe travel and wear comfy flats to and from the office. Early in my DC career I read somewhere an off-hand comment about 'those tacky women who still wear sneakers on the metro when there are so many other fashionable options.' Ever since, I've felt self-conscious about donning my New Balances for the journey and have sought out the perfect cute, comfy flats. Last summer I accomplished this feat. They were Pink Studio Cuties that I bought at Berks in Rhode Island. (Thank you, LLM). They were yellow with little blue flowers and a yellow leather strap across the bridge. I wore the heck out of those shoes. I loved them to death. I loved them so much I revived them twice with the help of prayer and miniature airplane glue. I wore them months after they should have been thrown away. The base of the shoe was flapping open so much that my friend said to me, "Hev, your shoes are talking to me." I bet they were. I bet they were just sucking in their last breath and yelling out, "FREEEEEEEDOM!!!!!" a la William Wallace. And I did finally retire them, but they set a very high bar for future comfy flats. Tragically, PS stopped the cutie line and I couldnt replace them. Then, last week, I got a surprise package in the mail. My sister Sarah had found a pair of P.S. Cuties in pink in my size and had sent them to me. I have been happily sporting them to and from the metro all week. We're in love.

So today I took forever getting dressed because I am meeting Los's coworkers for the first time at a happy hour. It is very important that I look: (1) smart; (2) laid-back; and (3) beautiful. Soliciting Los's assistance was... well.... he tries. I just get a lot of dismissive "looks great!"s. Later we're walking to the metro and Los looks down and sees my PS Cuties and - I swear - gasps, horrified, "You decided to wear THOSE???"
Me: No, the other shoes are in my bag.
Him: (sigh of relief)
(But, um, wait a minute whats wrong with the new loves of my life?) He says, Oh, nothing, they're fine.
Me: (accusatorily) You hate them.
Him: (guilty look) I dont hate them, I just...
Me: You just dont like them.
Him: Ummmmm, no.
Me: WHY?!?!
Him: I dunno.
Me: Is it because theyre pink?
Him: Maybe.
Me: So did you like the yellow ones?
Him: ugh those shoes were so ratty. Please tell me you've thrown them away.
(And no, I will not tell him I've thrown them away because, in fact, their shoe corpses are still in my personal drawer at work).
Me: Next you're going to say you hate my green moccasins, too. (my faithful weekend companions)
Him: (guilty look) Yes.
To punish him for being honest, I spent the entire 10 minute walk to the metro listing every pair of shoes I own or have owned since I've been dating him and making him tell me whether he likes them or not.