Treading Softly Through Butter


How’s that for a title?  Think about it for a minute.  What images come to mind?  Does this make you think about something fast and frantic or smooth, slow and languid?  Baking?  How about slipping and sliding?  Yes, I think all of those images flashed through my brain.  They must  have since I just wrote them down, ya think? 

It’s really about footwear and butter.  One wouldn’t think these two would go together but they can and they do.  How, you may ask?  Sure you can ask.  Get ready for a trip into the mind of BIPOLAR thinking.  Not for the faint of heart.  Just try to keep up, okay?

I’m not definite when this fascination with footwear started to rear it’s pretty sensational head (heel?).  I have loved shoes since I can remember.  I remember the first time I was allowed to pick out my own, brand new shoes for my oldest sisters wedding, when I was about 5.  I wanted shoes that looked grown up and pretty.  I wanted pointy toes and  heels like the Gold Diggers wore on Dean Martin.Most of my shoes to date were hand-me-downs from various sisters, brothers, neighbours or the Sally Anne.  This was a big day in my life so far.  I was so nervous my tummy hurt.

My little sister went first.  The salesman went back to get different pairs of shoes so many times, there couldn’t have been anything left in the back room.  But the man would go to where they keep the shoes and come out with ANOTHER pair for my sister.  Up would go her nose again and again.  I watched her point to all sorts of different footwear on all the shelves and I thought that this had to be the one pair she would want.  I swear there were boxes upon boxes of so many different pairs of shoes; brown ones, black ones, white ones (the only colours they came in then).  I felt so sorry for the shoe man.  He looked exhausted.  So did my mum.  Well, Mum had to buy shoes for 3 or 4 kids and still had another 4 kids at home so she always looked exhausted.  Finally, after over an hour, my little sister decided on a lovely pair of black patent leather, totally beautiful pair of  shoes.  She was back to being her sweet, sunny 3-year-old self (yes she was 3).

This was it.  It was my turn. I was so excited!  My mom could see the thrill on my face which was something since I rarely showed much on the outside of what was happening on the inside.   I felt such great pity for the shoe man and my mom that I decided I would get the very first pair of shoes that was offered to me.  I would be gracious and knew I would love any pair the store had.  The shoe man asked me what shoes I wanted.  I demurely (remember I was 5!) asked him to make a suggestion.  My mom, for some reason, looked horrified.  The shoe man gave us both a look.  He reached up and grabbed a pair of shoes (I think the only pair my sister didn’t try on).  “How about this pair, sweetie?”

They were awful.  They were ugly.  They had a STRAP going across it like a BABY shoe.  There were little flowers made with holes punched out all along the edges.  The heels were not tall and regal but clunky and tap-shoe-like. They were not just black but they were a dull, matte ugly black. 

I looked up at the shoe man.  How could he?  Couldn’t he see I was growing up?  I fell deeper into myself and just looked at my mom and nodded at her, ducking my head before she could read me.  They were both surprised to say the least.  “The first pair?  You can look at other shoes sweetie” said my Mum.  I looked around the store at the many, many boxes that were opened and strewed all over and just didn’t want to.  “No” I said, “I’ll take these.”

They were so ugly.

My next post will be the lighter side of shoes and explain the butter part.  Stay turned and prepare to be laced with laughter, tickled to the sole and churned with emotion. (ooh forgive me)

Later…

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