Hey, Whomever(s). Here's an old and unpublished short-short. How's that for a come-on? This may meet 'gurlesque' criteria. Have I joined a movement?
I have two pair of really cute black shoes, really cute. To a party Saturday night, I was going to wear one pair of my totally cute black shoes.
I could have chosen Pair #1, whose darling heels slant like a ramp, like risers ascending to a stage. I would have been, of course, the actress and star attraction performing my greatest, yet workman-like role, in my really cute black shoes. This pair is sling back, and, incidentally, very cute.
Stamped into the leather of Pair #2 is a peek-a-boo filigree, evoking the ambiance of an in-your-face flirting Spanish contessa. This is no ‘weave,’ you know, where the shoe pretends it is a hurachi, and a pricey one at that, but is, in fact, totally north of the border, toe-to-heel. Perish it, for, pair #2 is, to be boldly truthful, cute.
Those are my two really cute black shoes.
Alas, Saturday night partiers never got a chance to see either pair ON MY FEET, as both of the two really cute black shoes which I had tucked my breezy, swingy, flippy, strappy, perky, pert catch-all were for my right foot. The slopey-heel-one--right foot; Senorita Contess--right foot again.
The good news was that everyone got to see two distinctly different really cute black right-footed shoes because I held them aloft, all the while expressing a version of mirth on my face at having worn this mismatched “pair.”
People said I was the life of the party, but deep inside I had two really cute shoes I could not wear. I would not look absolutely great cramming one right shoe on top of another and then limping through the evenings’ antics with my left foot unshod. Upon realizing I had two right shoes, cute, cute shoes, mind you, I refrained from yanking off my broken-down, soiled running footgear in which I do not even run. A brisk walk does it for me. So I looked athletic which is not to be desired when one is not really, truly athletic and no one thinks otherwise.
Would you care to attend a party in beaten-in running shoes you purchased three years ago on a January 2nd whim?
My two pair of really cute black shoes have been joined by a third pair of ground-breaking cute, pick-o-the-litter jaunty, oh-so-comfy gay-divorcee-like black shoes which now abide in my California-esque snappy sunny straw bag. So if I mix or mislay pairs #1 or #2, I have a fallback plan: A pair of really cute black shoes!
‘What totally cute shoes those are,’ I shall hear upon the odd social occasion.
Upon my shoulders my head shall be held high, and beneath my ankles, well lower even, my feet shall be steady. And my response will be a gracious, ‘Aren’t they, now?’