It was my friend’s baby shower. I wore a pale pink saree and light makeup. Reaching for the shoe rack, I started digging in the various varied pairs I possess. Pink, grey, golden, silver, maroon, green, red, and of all sorts (no high heels for me please). I was just about to pull out a pair, when suddenly my sister screamed, “Gentle, you are not going to wear those boring black or bleak brown loafers again”. There was sand everywhere near the rack (thanks to my son’s football/rugby/running etc etc shoes), and that started bothering me. I snapped back at her asking her to mind her own business. Quickly slipped in the black loafers (yes, with the organza saree), I drove off with my friends.
I have humongous feet. Shoe number 41 fits me, but some of those give me shoe bites. Mum used to get my school shoes customized from the local cobbler. (The brown shoes.. school memories… OK, I really need to stop hopping from one thought to another. )
A few days after the loafer-sister incident, I planned a day for shopping some shoes and bags. My sister had whatsapped me a shoe guide. Here is it for your kind reference.
Fretting and sulking over the thought of big feet, I bought two bags in a matter of 5 minutes. It was as if I have eating a bar of chocolate after a terrible day at work. Once done with that, I coaxed myself in the Covered Market. The appetizing taste of warm Camembert tried to entice me towards the famous cheese shop. But I have a strong will power. Trust me!
The three shoe stores were lined up on the left wing of the market. The racks were lined up with delightful and attractive pairs. Price wasn’t sky rocketing because of summer sale. But my fear came true when I started looking at the sizes- none of size 41. All of them were small, some of the best ones tiny as pretzels. I picked up a couple of designs and asked the shopkeeper to search for size 41, but in vain. Finally I gave up. These pretty shoes were not meant for me. There I stood on my humongous feet, gaping and staring at those tiny shoes, Cinderella slip-ons, Tinker bell ballerinas, sassy wedges, strappy peep toes. Is it not possible to wear these pearls even for a teeny weeny moment? The store keeper read my mind. “These are party wears, you don’t have to run wearing them. They are just meant to deck you up. A smaller size will not harm.” Her sweet-talk persuaded me to get a pair. Yes, trust me please, I bought a size 40.
Tried them, felt the discomfort of curled fingers and visualized an injured pair of feet with several shoe bites. Got them packed, paid, and whooshed out.
The other day Mudit and V got me a present, wrapped in red, with black satin ribbons. Wait, there is no occasion, why this present? I unwrapped it, and found this.
Both the boys were in splits, whilst I put a few of these plasters around my heels and toe and little finger. Just then my friend called up to thank for being a part of her daughter’s first birthday. (yes, the same baby shower-sister-loafer incident friend).She was all praises for my lovely dress and equally charming shoes. No wonder the tiny shoes had created quite an enormous impact!
This post has been written for BAR-A-THON by Blog-A-Rhythm.
Day 4 Prompt – Tiny Shoes