Shoes, something more vital than cell phones and facespace. Folks of a certain age will nod sagely in agreement. Others wll think, What!
boots these days are great fun, have risen to new heights and kinkyness. The young and able can prance exuberantly in elegance or farce. I myself once glided about painlessly on stilleto heels hovering at six feet. I
Time marched on (pun intended) and drastically changed my shoe-view. Today, I don't much care what they look like. Style? I wear ugly
shoes and love them as others love their homely grandchildren. I see innersole beauty and character, especially if it's spongy and pampers the arthritic little toe.
This morning I admire such a shoe on my
foot, a shoe my departed mother would consider an insult to womankind. Mom, a tough woman, never let comfort come between her and style. When she hobbled into advanced old age, we took away her heels as others take away the car keys.
A few days before she passed, she shopped for new shoes, literally almost shopping till she dropped. No disrespect here, shopping was her favorite thing. Mom went out happy with a pair of pretty new shoes tucked in the closet. (Well, as pretty as a shoe could be with no heels!)
To my mother's everlasting disgust, quite early on, I wimped out for comfort over style. Birks, my
ugly shoe of choice for many years. But, alas, one day my delicate, skinny foot rejected the beloved Birks and I became the little old lady in (glorified) sneakers. Luckily, as my feet went into decline, ugly
shoes came on the market: sandals, lace-ups, slip-ons, clogs. And some of them actually fit!
Color, style? Mostly irrelevant. My standard in footwear is
simple: If the shoe fits, wear it...... if it doesn't pinch the little toe.