I’m That Girl. Not in a good way, but more in a humourous way. Lemme ‘splain. I’m the girl who doesn’t eat meat, but can’t claim to be a vegetarian because I dig on our little fishy friends. I’m the chick who’s all up in Macrobiotics, but when my Boy scores a Drumstick iced cream cone I’ve usually scarfed it in less than thirty seconds. As a kid, I was the original Dog with a capital WOOF who basically became cute because I had nowhere to go but up. I am also the girl who took a stand (if only in my mind) and cease buying leather and animal products. However, if someone else purchased these items for me it would be rude not to accept, right? Raaawght.
Actually, don’t get the wrong idea, as the animal hide comment isn’t entirely true. Leather goods are one of the few things that do make me a little sick. Belts, pants, those thin ties from the eighties, wallets, car interiors, all of it, to me, is grody. I don’t like the smell, I don’t like the look, I don’t like much of anything about leather, with the exception of Dansko shoes.
(She shakes her tiny fist towards the darkly open and stormy sky…)
For five long and tormented years, I have secretly coveted a pair of red Mary Jane style Dansko clogs. I’ve battled with trying to justify A) Paying full price because you simply cannot find these things on sale and finding cheaper ones on eBay is just wrong. Don’t screw around with used shoes; it’s like buying under-garments from the Goodwill. and B) Finding a way around the fact that these shoes are leather…mostly leather. Combined, these two reasons kept me from entering a love affair with les shoez as the forces were too powerful. However, the ultimate excuse, which over-rides everything, presented itself two weeks ago: My Mother needed ideas for my birthday. Ta da!
Mum’s pretty cool in the way of b-day prizes, since she starts asking what my Brother and I would like the day after our birthdays and continues until the first present is being opened on the actual date. Normally, I have these sporadic epiphanies about three weeks before my birthday and forget them after about three seconds, so I never really have any ideas to donate to my Mum, Dad, Grandmother, and the like. THIS year, I remembered. I remembered the red Mary Jane style Dansko clogs and how much I wanted them and how I couldn’t buy them, but my Mom could! She doesn’t have any ridiculous fashion restrictions! Huzzah & Happy Birthday to ME!
When I fell for these shoes, it was about five or six or four years ago. Best friend, Erica, had acquired a pair for her Summer birthday, I believe. I’m not sure how flattering it was intended to be, but Erica asked me to ‘wear these shoes and stretch them out for her’. (I will now take this opportunity to maintain that Erica and I are BOTH a size 8.5 or 38 if you’re in the Europes. Although, I suspect she changed her shoe size from 9 to 8.5 when she found out my petite length…jus’ kiddin’. Kind of.)
For two months, I wore these shoes and loved them, cuddled them, drank with them, ran, modelled, attended sporting events (Beirut totally counts, pipe down), and really formed a relationship between the three of us. Secretly, all the while, I was hoping Erica would forget and I could make off with these shoes. No such luck. I knew I was taking a chance with Erica’s stellar fashion sense, but This Girl could dream. And my dream walked when I had to return those shoes and exchange them for five or six or four years of fantasies.
With any luck, by the time this article hits the Interwebbings, I’ll have my Happy Birthday to Me Shoes. So, should some of you hear the musicals stylings of ‘It’s the most wonderful time of the yeeeeeear’. this Tuesday, you’ll have inkling as to why.