grown-up shoes
I'm small.
I think all of my readers, my real-life friends and my co-workers and family realize this.
I've written about it - I specifically remember before I went to Blogher a couple of years ago, writing a post about what fellow bloggers should expect when they met me and one of the top things was to not be surprised by the fact that I'm small.
Anyway. Small. Short - petite even, though I've never been especially comfortable with petite.
When I was a little girl all I wanted (well, all I wanted that I couldn't have) was a pair of slip-on shoes. I wanted what we now call ballet flats. I wanted them desperately and could not have them because my feet were too small.
Of course, I remember it as several years that I was denied this sophisticated pleasure but it may not have been so long.
I remember going to the shoe store with my parents, for school shoes, in August, falling in love with black patent leather ballet flats, waiting patiently for the salesman to measure my feet and being heartbroken when I learned that my feet were too little - that, once again, I would have to have shoes with a strap. I distinctly remember thinking, saying, that maybe when I was in second grade or third grade that I might be big enough.
I must have been only five or six years old.
I should ask my mom about it - see if she remembers it, but the sting of it seems so fresh to me that I don't think about it. I hadn't thought about it for scores of years but the past few years I have fallen for men's shoes and discovered that my feet are too small to buy them and this has refreshed the sting of this childhood injustice.
Now that I am, in fact, grown up, someone will exclaim that my feet are tiny once or twice a week - most recently one of the ladies I admire most at work has mentioned it. She's tall and thin and charming and adorable and seems to feel slightly awkward about her long arms and thin legs and narrow long feet, and yet, when I look at her I think she is perfection. I've always wanted long thin arms and legs and feet.
Yes.
Feet that fit into what I must have perceived, at five or six, were grown-up shoes.
My tall, slim friend showed me this link today.
It's a good place to browse and pretend we all fit into grown-up shoes.
I think all of my readers, my real-life friends and my co-workers and family realize this.
I've written about it - I specifically remember before I went to Blogher a couple of years ago, writing a post about what fellow bloggers should expect when they met me and one of the top things was to not be surprised by the fact that I'm small.
Anyway. Small. Short - petite even, though I've never been especially comfortable with petite.
When I was a little girl all I wanted (well, all I wanted that I couldn't have) was a pair of slip-on shoes. I wanted what we now call ballet flats. I wanted them desperately and could not have them because my feet were too small.
Of course, I remember it as several years that I was denied this sophisticated pleasure but it may not have been so long.
I remember going to the shoe store with my parents, for school shoes, in August, falling in love with black patent leather ballet flats, waiting patiently for the salesman to measure my feet and being heartbroken when I learned that my feet were too little - that, once again, I would have to have shoes with a strap. I distinctly remember thinking, saying, that maybe when I was in second grade or third grade that I might be big enough.
I must have been only five or six years old.
I should ask my mom about it - see if she remembers it, but the sting of it seems so fresh to me that I don't think about it. I hadn't thought about it for scores of years but the past few years I have fallen for men's shoes and discovered that my feet are too small to buy them and this has refreshed the sting of this childhood injustice.
Now that I am, in fact, grown up, someone will exclaim that my feet are tiny once or twice a week - most recently one of the ladies I admire most at work has mentioned it. She's tall and thin and charming and adorable and seems to feel slightly awkward about her long arms and thin legs and narrow long feet, and yet, when I look at her I think she is perfection. I've always wanted long thin arms and legs and feet.
Yes.
Feet that fit into what I must have perceived, at five or six, were grown-up shoes.
My tall, slim friend showed me this link today.
It's a good place to browse and pretend we all fit into grown-up shoes.
Comments
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jbhat
I think small is perfection.
Which tickled me.
But I'll go with "small, but mighty" instead.
She responded, "I am small, but I mean business!" And HOIST up went the tray.
You don't need big feet to leave a footprint.
when we drove to my grandparent's house in florida? my mother and i would sneak into shoe shops hoping for the best.
a few years ago, a friend of mine called about my shoe size. and sent me red mary janes for christmas. sometimes? being an adult fairly rocks.
I was the giraffe, gangly and awkward.
These days, my sons are making me feel petite, and I love that feeling.
ErinH
Small is lovely. You should see that in yourself too.
After seeing my mother and my mother-in-law shrink due to age, I can't help btu be terrified by my fate!!