Monday, Nov. 28, 2005
Photo Snappin Mamas
Public Service Announcement for Men
This entry contains scenes of gratuitous shoes, along with explicit tales of shopping and purses and clothes. Read at your own risk.
What a day...
My underwriting manager phoned about 40 minutes before the end of my air shift. She sang a rapid-fire version of "Happy Birthday To You" and then informed me that I was NOT to leave the studios until after she got there, which she assured me would be momentarily. (I think it was actually only maybe 5 minutes or thereabouts.) She gave me a hug and a gorgeous chenille sweater, something very much welcome, particularly now that it's in the upper teens in the mornings when I'm headed off to work!
Much as I hated to cut things short, we both knew I had to head out. With one eye on my watch, I high-tailed it back home to pick up Nicim. We had a little leeway before her plane, so we grabbed lunch, then I did a quick run to the radio station to give her the ten-cent tour. After regaling everyone with the details of poolagirl's play (complete with sound effects and partial reinactment,) she followed me back to my little broadcast cubby. While we were still there, a couple of the ladies from the other station brought me in a bouquet of red roses, with the ladies acting as a singing-telegram duet to accompany the birthday gift from my boss and his wife.
I hope my jaw didn't break anything important from hitting the floor so hard. It's still difficult to absorb the extent of differences between here and the last station where I worked.
Unfortunately we didn't have time for me to do much more than gape and perform a quick perusal of the card, then dash out the door so I could drive Nicim back to the airport. Nicim and I have been talking nearly nonstop for most of the past three or four days, and by the time we actually parted ways, it was more like saying goodbye to a close family member than someone I'd met only days earlier.
After such a wonderful, sad, exhilarating, frantic weekend, the stillness seemed all the more profound.
I phoned my sis, whose home is only a short jog off the path from the airport to my route home. Baby sis had asked me to stop by this weekend but I couldn't reach her yesterday while we were driving through the Phoenix area. She re-invited me and I stopped briefly there - turns out she, too, had a birthday present for me. My sister gave me a purse - one that I love, no less. She knows my tastes and preferences and had a heck of a lot better luck than I did at finding something that's the right size, shape and... well, basically perfect.
I won't dredge up the entry now, but I've whined here before about how much I hate shopping for purses. I love shopping in general - just not for purses or shoes.
Yet this weekend I acquired new shoes, too! Poolagirl's housemate took me to a shoe store there, coming along with me as she pointed out that I needed a second opinion.
I don't know what she was expecting, but on the rare occasions that I go shopping for shoes, I generally narrow down choices VERY fast. I go with something specific in mind and once I find it, I'm outta there. Only this time, housemate blinked a couple of times and challenged, "Are you sure? Because I think..." And she proceeded to pull out (drum roll, please.)
Now I need to backtrack a little (so to speak) and explain that I am not a person who wears anything dressy unless absolutely required to do so. "Dressy" to me (at least in terms of shoes) means a low-heeled pump. As pretty and sexy as spike heels are, they would equal a broken ankle for me tuit suite. However... Poolagirl's play was my first excuse to really dress up in eons and I admittedly was considering a little more heel than I normally wear, provided I could find something fairly stable - maybe even as much as a 2" heel, which is much higher than I normally would buy.
Housemate, however, pulled out these babies:
You're right - those aren't 2" heels. I'm guessing you should count about an inch to that, maybe more. AND the bonus is, they're chunky enough to allow a little less ankle-breakage than spike heels.
I managed to slide my fat feet into them, and they fit. Ka-CHING!!!
Housemate started sputtering something along the line of, "But.. but... but..." She apparently thought I should have taken longer to find a pair of shoes. Little did she know of my shoe-shopping aversion, nor of how I have coveted sexy shoes. Finding something I like in that amount of time, AND they fit? I was on a mission from God to find sexy shoes and he sent along
an angel housemate to lead me through the wilderness of ugly shoes, to the promised pumps.
I'm working on the pictures from the play and our road trip but there's a whoooooole lot of pictures, only one of me, and I am beat. I have all of the photos loaded over from my camera, from Nicim's camera, and several shots that wildrosie took, and will probably set up a page of photos, maybe linking to several slideshows. I'll get them together as soon as I can, but there's no way I can finish 'em tonight.
Before - After
In the grander scheme of things, no soul can truly be replaced. Each one of us has a place in the universal tapestry. We each contribute our own color and texture. When one thread is snipped too soon, it distorts all the threads around it. Other lives can unravel and tear. If the wrong thread is ripped away, the whole fabric of life becomes dangerously fragile.
- LeiLani, aka Radiogurl aka Bright Opal (1957 - )