A Shoe In

Husband works for a small, but very successful dot com. The founding fathers started the company in a basement office. The three of them built the business into a surprisingly lucrative enterprise and several years later sold it at a HUGE profit. All three now enjoy a lifestyle few of us can ever hope to experience.

One of them has stayed on as CEO, and since it is a small, intimate group of people, we are uniquely privvy to just how fantastically wealthy he is. He often hosts barbecues at his home, he invites the guys to fish at his palace cabin in the North Georgia Mountains, and every year during the holidays, he treats the entire staff to a lavish formal Christmas party at his own expense. It must cost him thousands.

During Husband's tenure there, we have been to Ray's on the River, Boi Na Braza Steakhouse, Emeril's, The Crowne Plaza , The Horseradish Grille and two other places I can't remember for the life of me.

I really look forward to these parties. As a Stay at Home Mom, I don't get many opportunities to dress up and rub elbows with the haute monde. I don't often get to converse with folks who have more on their mind than carpool and PTA. It's fun to shed my blue jeans and tennies to get dressed up and feel glamorous. It's fun to pretend that we are one of the Buckhead elite; the wealthy, the privileged. And it's an illusion that I can usually perpetrate pretty successfully, even if I have to pretend really hard to convince myself we are driving a Lexus instead of a Windstar. At least I don't have to worry about the Valet taking it out for a joyride.

Every year, I search for just the right dress. Since I am much smaller on the top than on the bottom, it can be a challenge. But it's one I enjoy, since it's the only time of the year that I have the luxury of spending as much as I want on an outfit. Well, as much as I want meaning, I leave enough in the checking account to pay the mortgage and feed the children until payday.

I'm pretty resourceful, and I can usually put together a stylish outfit including jewelry, handbag and shoes for very little money. After the first couple of years, I amassed enough rotating stock that I don't really need to buy shoes and handbags anymore. I have black, I have red, I have gold, so I can alternate accordingly. A couple years ago, my mother gave me a set of antique mourning jewelry made of real jet that belonged to my paternal grandmother. She had scads and scads of beautiful jewelry, some of it genuine, and some of it costume. But even the costume jewelry was high quality. The design of this set is one of such timeless elegance, that it compliments literally any outfit. I wear it quite often. And I have shawls and throws and shrugs aplenty.

This year I decided not to buy a new dress. Last year, after losing 50 lbs, I bought an outfit in a size I hadn't worn since before I got married. Unfortunately, I have not been very vigilant and some of those pesky pounds have stealthily deposited themselves back onto my hips and thighs. But I have vowed that they will not stay there, so I refuse to acknowledge their permanence by buying a larger size. I've unearthed one of the outfits I wore the first year, and I'll just hope nobody remembers it. Husband snickers at this. Though he never says a word about me buying a new outfit each year, he does wonder why it's necessary. He, and most of the men, wear the same suit year after year and simply buy a new tie. They don't understand that this is just not acceptable for the women.

So, anyway, I have not been shopping for an outfit. But it's some kind of cosmic rule I guess, that one finds all kinds of gorgeous things that fit beautifully when one is not frantically searching for such. Foolishly, I tried on several things yesterday after happening upon them while shopping for pajamas for my sister. But despite the fact that they complimented my pear shaped hourglass figure and did not cling, bind, or sag anywhere, I maintained my resolve. I put them back on the rack, telling myself that it wasn't worth the money, since I would be too small next year to wear it again.

After that, I wandered into the shoe store on impulse, which is really not like me. I have large, square, flintstone feet, so shoe shopping has never really held any magic for me. Most everything that suits my taste is too narrow to accomodate my extraordinarily wide feet and perfectly uniform length toes. And if, by some chance, they do happen to fit, it often appears to me as if an elephant has tried to don ballet slippers. I usually opt for shoes that show as little of my foot as possible. No strappy barely there evening sandals for me. SIGH.

I found a few pairs of pretty satin slingbacks, and some 40's inspired ankle strap numbers, all with appropriately closed toes. I tried them on and was quite pleased with the results, when two other pairs caught my eye. They were the antithesis of any shoe I would ever deem suitable for my porcine hooves, but I couldn't resist. This pair might seem tacky at first glance, but upon my foot, they looked magical. I slipped one on, and miraculously, it fit. Even more miraculously, my foot appeared...dainty. I felt like Cinderella must have when her foot slid effortlessly into the glass slipper. Encouraged, I tried on the other pair.

Like the first pair, they fit amazingly well and made my foot look...not gargantuan. But they were even more beautiful, more magical, more sparkly, more feminine and just....perfect.

I realized then that these shoes would be going home with me. I could argue, bargain, threaten and cajole, but I would not be able to talk myself out of buying this gorgeous, frivilous, wholly feminine pair of shoes. Not only do they fit and flatter, but the rhinstone detail matches the buttons on the white satin blouse I will be wearing. How could I say no?

I brought them home and managed to look shamefaced in front of Husband. Believe it or not, I've never spent $50 on a pair of shoes, and certainly not for one that will be worn once.

Husband only smirked. Like the drawer full of sparkly eye shadows and lipsticks in every imagineable color, he realizes the shoes were beyond my power to resist. He knows that had he ventured into a Comp USA, Radio Shack or Sharper Image, he would be hard pressed to refuse the siren call of doo dads, gew gaws and gadgetry. We all have our own form of Spiritual Lipstick, right?

It looks like I may have to add shoes to mine.