Of Shoes And Purses

There's just something about me, and shoes...I like them. Shoes and purses. Mama always told me that when I was a little girl, that I would choose a purse over any toy, including dolls. When asked what I wanted Santa to bring me, my answer would be, " A puhse"--I couldn't pronounce it correctly at that tender age, but I sure knew what they were, and I loved them! Even now, when I find a pair of shoes that I really, really like, I will buy them in different colors. Females are strange critters, I know, and we are blessed, indeed, if we can find a man wonderful enough to put up with our strange ways, and not only that, but to be a real help in any situation.

For instance, several years ago, when my husband worked at the Kennedy Space Center, we lived there, right on Indian River, across from where they launched the shuttles. It's beautiful there, but it is so hot and humid, that it sometimes it makes just ordinary tasks seem nearly impossible--and oh, yes, I do have a "for instance" about that, too.

One evening our church took all the young people to a skating rink, which I loved, because I always loved skating. We all were having a great time, gliding around the rink, doing our special little moves. Except that I suddenly wasn't really gliding, more like stumbling along. I realized that one of the wheels on my skates was not functioning properly, and decided to go to the changing room for another pair.

I was easing myself across the carpet, when I suddenly felt myself falling, headlong, with no way to stop myself. I fell like a ton of bricks, with my left hand taking the full brunt of the fall. It was bent backwards, with the tops of my fingers, touching my arm. The pain was so intense that I couldn't move. It seems that there had been a hole in the carpet, and the wheel of my skate rolled right into it, throwing me forward.

Needless to say, I was in the hospital for five days, having undergone surgery, to instill five pins in my wrist, hand, and arm. My wrist was broken in eight places, and the bone in my lower arm was broken in two places.

I don't have to tell you what a predicament that put me in, as far as trying to do things for myself, such as getting dressed. I had a cast from my wrist, all the way up to my arm pit.

The worst times were when I would try to get dressed for church, because being the prim and proper little lady that I am, I wouldn't have dreamed of going to church without wearing pantyhose! And just by the way, have any of you ever tried pulling on a pair of pantyhose with one hand, over legs covered with perspiration from all the humidity, that not even air conditioning going full blast would remedy? And did you ever have to have your husband do the deed for you, while instructing him how to roll them up, position them over your (wet) toes. slowly, and carefully unrolling them up the entire length of your (wet) legs, keeping them straight, so that the seam of the panty part of them would be in the right place? And when it wasn't, pulling and manipulating them, until it was, almost, but not quite? Well, let me tell you, by the time it was over, we would both just about be in tears--of frustration if it turned out to be a long struggle. But, oh the joy when it went well, and we had plenty of time to get my shoes on, and to church on time.

One of those times, when things had gone well, we so enjoyed our time at church--sitting through the service, singing in the choir, a potluck dinner at church, There was only one hitch to that wonderful day! Just as we were going in the door, back at home, I looked down to see--yep, you guessed it! My two feet, each with a shoe exactly like the other, except for one little thing. Each shoe was a different color! Even now, I'm almost embarrassed to think about it, but that's what I get for buying the same shoe in different colors! My husband tried to console me, saying that no one had even noticed. I asked him if he had, and he said, "Well, yeah, but not until it was almost time to come home."

I still don't know if anyone else noticed it, but my only consolation is that if they did, they have forgotten it by now. Sure wish I could.

In case you're wondering, I have another little anecdote about shoes, and if you'd like to hear about that one, too, just let me know, and I will be happy to humiliate myself again, just for you, my dear, dear readers.