"The One With the Fancy Shoes"

What girl doesn’t enjoy sparkly, fancy, high-heeled shoes? While on a shopping trip looking for some serving trays and platters (is there a difference?) that I probably didn’t need but I really wanted and never found, I instead happened upon some glittery peep-toe stilettos that I had to have. I couldn’t remember the last time I bought new shoes and I had already justified the purchase with at least half a dozen places I’d wear the shoes. Since being a stay-at-home mom for the last three years, I haven’t exactly had many opportunities to wear fancy shoes, so I knew I’d have to break in my pathetic flat-shoe-wearing feet.

I wore the shoes for the first time out the next evening during a double date night with my husband, sister and brother-in-law. As much as I loved them, my feet were already killing me and I dreaded having to walk anywhere after our dinner. All I kept thinking about was the episode of “Friends” when Monica buys new boots and tells Chandler she’s going to wear them everywhere in order to justify her splurging on them but after the first wear, her feet are screaming! Seriously, my feet were in pain but each time I went to take the shoes off to give my feet a rest, I was instead distracted by the sparkly loveliness that were my shoes and just couldn’t bear to take them off. A tiny voice in my head said “suck it up, whiner, how often do you get to play dress up and go out?”

When we returned home, I took off the shoes and gently placed them back in the box atop the shelf in my closet, thinking, “well, it was fun while it lasted,” and ready to admit defeat. Who was I kidding – these shoes were not for the amateur high-heel shoe wearing lady I had become.
About a week or so later, while shopping for a birthday gift for my brother’s girlfriend, I came across those inserts that you put in your shoes to supposedly make them comfy. I also found foldable ballet flats that you can keep in your purse as a backup (seriously, who knew Nordstrom Rack carried such items?). Armed with both, I decided it was time to give those sparkly lovelies another chance. After all, if the padded inserts didn’t work, I had the cute little ballet flats in my arsenal so I wouldn’t be forced to walk the streets in my bare feet (although it wouldn’t be the first time I’ve done that, but that’s another story!)

Well, the time came to try them out. I attended a fancy event that I was on the planning committee of, and although my feet still hurt, they weren’t killing me by night’s end and I never had to wear the ballet flats. Maybe it was pride, maybe I was becoming immune to the pain in my feet, or maybe it was the wine I drank, but I understood the idea of form over function, style over comfort, etc. Yes, I could barely walk and my feet throbbed the entire next day, but those sparkly beauties sure were fun and, dare I say, worth the pain. There, I said it.

Don't Let Them See You Cry!

I am a very emotional person. I cry at the silliest things, like when the children’s choir sings at mass, or when I write heartfelt cards to my family members, or when I’m over tired and stressed out and my kids just won’t stop being annoying or like many people, during a poignant moment in a tv show or film. Most people know this about me. So why do I feel like I can’t let anyone see me cry when it really matters?

I remember when my Dad called to tell me that my Grandpa’s cancer had returned after years of being in remission. My daughter was probably a little over a year old at the time and she and I were alone when I received the call, and I still felt silly crying in her presence. Was she going to judge me for having a heart and showing a human, vulnerable side of me? Of course not. Once I realized how crazy I was acting and decided to let the tears flow without reservation, she toddled over to me and sat in my lap, like she could sense that something was wrong and I needed her support. Of course, I cried even more at that moment.

When I was 19, and my first boyfriend told me he had cheated on me, instead of giving him a piece of my mind and letting him see just how much he hurt me, I instead walked home (he lived two houses away) and cried my eyes out and spent countless days and nights crying when no one was home to see me crumble.

Why do I put up the tough front? Why can I let people see me cry when it doesn’t really matter, but once crying is called for, I wait until I have a private moment to do so? I think women, especially mothers, are expected to be sappy but it’s way cooler to come off as emotionally unavailable. Could this have anything to do with trying to maintain a “put together, strong woman” persona on the outside without letting anyone see the emotional train wreck that really exists? I really don’t know but I’m getting teary-eyed just thinking about it. Thank God no one is around to see that. There, I said it.