Entry No. 10

These shoes are advertised to me online every single time I do anything - EVER! It's really funny because I thrifted them in person. Not online. They were $8. They'd clearly never been worn, and I knew what was wrong with them before I pulled them off the shelf. The size is marked wrong. They say they're size seven. They are liars! They are 7.5s. If someone bought them thinking they were getting size sevens, and they didn't know about the sock trick, they would slide all over the place. It is of paramount importance that these girls do not slide because they are really high. These are some of my tallest shoes. Do not be deceived by their browness or the fact that they don't look like something you would wear clubbing. These are TALL shoes. The platform on the front means business.

There is something else about these shoes that may have been off-putting to the first buyer. It's the buckle on the side... which I now realize is not properly photographed, is held in place with Velcro. Some people don't like Velcro. If I were to guess, I would say it's most people under 35. I remember feeling that way before I turned 35. At this point, I'm all for it. I'm like, 'Sure. Why not?'

Though I have to say that it's a pretty weird combination. These shoes are going to touch the skies, but young people who have the balance to wear them won't want them because the Velcro makes them think of grandma shoes, where no one wants to bend over for long enough to undo an actual buckle.

These shoes are lucky I'm riding that line - good enough balance to wear them and practical enough to appreciate that the lameness of the Velcro means instant adjustment without driving a person crazy with hooks and holes.

So, what do I wear with these girls?

Well, that's got a few interesting stories. The dress I wear is a dress I picked up at Cleo for $23. Originally, it was $125. It's a black and brown paisley wrap dress, velvet and gauze, three sizes too small for me.

When I shop, I look at fabrics, and in that Cleo store, it was the only thing that spoke to me, except it was damaged. It is a wrap dress, so it had a mini trapeze built inside the waist meant to hold the thing in place, but it was broken. I was looking at the dress, wondering if it would fit me if I repaired it, and wore it in such a way that it didn't have to close so tightly.

I went up to the change room. There were only two, and one of the women using one of them was out and about in the store looking for more things to try on. I asked her if she minded if I used it for a moment, and she said it was fine. The details are a bit fuzzy for me at this point, but for the first time in my life, I was hit on by another woman while shopping for clothes. I was stunned. This woman was so loud and aggressive that I think the shopkeeper gave me that amazing deal on the damaged dress as her apology for the unwanted attention and to get me out of the store as quickly as possible.

Back to the dress, I got the damaged part worked out with remarkable ease. First, I got rid of the snap that closes the V-neck. We aren't going to need that to mark how the dress is supposed to fit. Secondly, I put elastic loops inside to keep the wrap closed. I also wear a belt to be extra sure I'm not going to have a wardrobe malfunction. The sleeves and bottom fit fine. There is an absurd amount of fabric in the skirt, so that even with my generous rump, I can get away with it. Now I bet you're wondering what's going on with that plunging neckline? There's nothing going on with it. I wear a black shirt under it to keep everything decent. I layer up the skirt portion, too. You can only have too many layers if you're layering toques.

Now, where did I wear it? I wore it to the opera. It was a night when I was watching an opera that lasts forever. No joke. It was Die Walkure. It's one of the operas Lord of the Rings is based on. So, as sometimes happens on opera night, I was in the second row, and I very suddenly had to go to the bathroom. Leaving the opera is a big no-no. If you leave, they won't let you back in. I hurried out of my row, tripped on the elderly gentleman at the end's cane, and fell butt over teakettle into the aisle. I was so close to the pit that the orchestra would have heard me. I was so close to the stage that it was completely possible that the opera singers saw me. I glanced over my shoulder, and I couldn't tell if the singers were pausing for dramatic emphasis or if they were concerned because I had red carpet stuck to my face. Whatever. I righted myself and got to the bathroom before anything else happened. I knew it would be okay. Wotan and Brunhilda were just going to be singing about how much they loved each other. I had to watch the last little bit from the back, but they sang about how much they loved each other for a solid 45 minutes. Viking dads are the best. "You broke the rules, so I'm going to kill you, but very slowly because I love you."