The way he asked me that question I just had to laugh (and try not to drop the door). I told him that they were in fact my shoes, but his expression was hilarious; a combination of shocked and complete disbelief. The shoes he was holding onto was a pair your standard black leather pumps. Nothing fancy, but I know that he has NEVER seen me wear those shoes, or any other shoes like it.
He didn’t believe me, and asked me to try them on.
I put them on.
He still didn’t believe me. He said, “let me see you walk in them, Mama”.
I walked up and down the hallway.
He said, “Again.”
I walked up and down the hallway, again.
He about died laughing.
When he stopped laughing at me, which I’m sure I need to start getting used to, he said, “those are good shoes mama”. I looked at him, smiled, and replied, “You’re right. These are good shoes.”
For the rest of the evening I kept thinking about that little conversation I had with him and my shoes. The shoes are just stilettos; I don’t wear shoes like that anymore. I have always loved heels (or as I called them as a child “hee-highles”), but the phase of life I am in right now does not call for heels. In fact, if I tried to wear heels right now, I would laugh at myself just like Dutch did. I donated all of my heels after having Ellis because I knew that I wouldn’t need them (And no, I’m not going to tell you the number of shoes I donated. Just know, that I’m embarrassed). I kept this pair of heels for the same reason every southern gal does....in case of a funeral.
With the exception of the cobwebs, these shoes are still in great condition. But honestly I don’t miss them at all. I don’t miss the environment I needed heels for on a daily basis, but I’m so grateful for those days. So after Dutch went to bed, I dusted the shoes off and put them back in my closet on a far shelf to collect some more dust, because,
these are good shoes. These were good shoes.
