Hello Babies, I’ve Missed You

Oh, joy of joys. Last night I finally got my Merrells back.

Back when we went on our Girls’ Weekend, all the way back at the beginning of December that was, I bought a pair of shoes. A pair of shoes, more money than I should have spent at the time, and for myself when I should have been Christmas shopping for others.

But these shoes were special. I only tried them on because someone told me a story about them. This person, who was truly suffering after having knee surgery, apparently bought these shoes and then danced across the state of Virginia like Fred Astaire on pep pills. “You gotta get some Merrells,” he said. And so we girls were walking through the mall and there was a store selling them, and I thought, hell, why not, and I picked out a pair to try on.

I picked out a walking shoe type, more like a hiking-looking shoe, tan and navy. The Shoe Man put them on me and tied them up. I got up to walk to the shoe mirror and take a look. Before I even made it there I turned around and said to the Shoe Man, “I’ll take them on one condition – if I can buy them without taking them off.” And so began my love affair with my Merrells.

I was wearing them just about every day, to play and to work. Even though they didn’t always go with my outfit, I didn’t care. The trick knee wasn’t tricking and the sore foot wasn’t sore anymore. It was good in Shoeland.

And then… (pronounced “and then, dot-dot-dot”)

And then that fateful day of Dec. 30 came. How odd for it to fall that I would have a hair appointment and a pedicure on the same evening. I mean, how beautiful can one woman get in a 3-hour period? But I headed west to T’well to get beautified, in my kakhis and Merrells, carrying with me my pedicure gear.

(It’s at this point we have to take a little detour on our trip. It’s called “Why I Hate For Anyone To See Me At The Pedicurist’s.” I arrive, face scrubbed of makeup, hair pushed back with a hair doodie, wearing big-legged sweatpants [because one must roll one’s pants way up above the knee, for a pedicure doesn’t stop at the ankle], and wearing sandals [because even though the polish seems dry, shoes and socks will ruin it if worn anywhere within an hour or so]. Even in 12 degree weather, sandals and no socks. So, let’s just say I don’t look my best and brightest, and we could even say I look like The Wrath of God struck me full force.)

OK, back to the story. I got my hair cut, then headed to Pedicureland. One nice pedicure and a long talk with S (my pedicurist) later, I was heading out the door with my coat, pocketbook, and khakis. Once I was back in the bosom of the Poderosa, it hit me. Shit! I’d left my shoes and socks sitting right there under the chair where my coat had been! I’m not used to having to wear regular clothes to get a pedicure – I couldn’t remember all I had with me to take home!

Now, I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking, “Big damn deal. Go back the next day and pick up your shoes and shut up.” Not that easy. Pedicureland is about 45 minutes away, in the middle of nowhere. It’s only open 2-3 days a week. S lives another hour west of T’well. I’m busy, she’s busy, it snows, etc, etc, etc. I had a fleeting moment of hope when last week a friend had a manicure scheduled. But alas, she had to cancel, and still I was empty-handed. Or footed.

And finally, last night came. My regular pedicure. Over three weeks, and my Merrells and I were reunited, S brought them out to me, the left one still holding the new socks I’d been wearing that night as well. After a brief and romantic getting acquainted period, I took them home with me, along the way telling them about the great New Year’s Eve party they missed and the awful black boots I’ve been wearing in the snow and ice.

And so this morning when the alarm went off I lumbered out of bed and to the shower. I pulled on some black jeans and a shirt, then pulled on my shoes and popped out to meet the day.

I don’t know if anything could make me Fred Astaire on pep pills, but I sure am happy….