Sensible shoes

Last week I learned the Texas two-step, and I had cowboy boot envy.

My friend Meg had a modest pair of not-quite-knee-high toad-stabbers, so named because of their pointy toes. Our instructor wore a pair of boots that came up well above her knees, made of colorful, intricately tooled leather, also with pointy toes. I was reminded of my sister's pair, almost thigh high, possibly made of alligator hide, with toes that would have impaled tadpoles. All of these boots had smooth, hard soles, perfect for the slide/glide motion of the two-step on a polished wooden dance floor. They all had heels of at least some height too, perfect for leaning a little into the light circle of a partner's arm as he skillfully guided you backward across the floor.

My Merrells, black, low, crepe soled and practical for day to day use, did not cut it. I wasn't gliding anywhere. If I actually set my feet down on the dance floor, they stayed where I put them. If I stepped carefully, I could follow my partner, but not with the smooth, immediate reaction of the dancers in those boots.

Oh how I wanted to glide, and I wanted the look too, elegant, stylish, exotic.

Shoes are the one item of clothing I never buy used. I buy sturdy, comfortable, non-slip footwear. My feet are my transportation. I use them a lot, and I treat them well. I also have no depth-perception, and the last thing I need is a thin, high heel twisting my ankle if I misjudge a step, or a smooth, slippery sole shooting out from under me if I come off a curb at the wrong angle.

When I was in high school, I had a pair of high platform sandals, from which I learned important lessons about friendship, flexibility and pain

I thought those sandals were some cool, and I wore them up to Burlington, the big city, for the All-State Music Festival. I wasn't a performer. I'd just gone to cheer on my friends in the band. When a student didn't show up to tote their half of the Galloping Ghost banner, my friends needed me. I was bundled into a hot, polyester band uniform, two sizes too large, and given my half of the banner. We couldn't do anything about the shoes though.

By the end of the two mile parade route, my feet were a mass of blisters. The platform sandals disappeared into the depths of my closet. What good were shoes if you couldn't walk in 'em to help out your friends in a pinch, so to speak.

Over the next 20 or so years, I sometimes held jobs that required me to dress up. I bought black pumps with modest heels and teetered my way cautiously down stairs or across grass lawns where the heels sank in and stuck. I believe the intent of such shoes is to make women walk in a delicate, ladylike fashion. For me, they just slowed me down and gave people the mistaken impression that I was tentative. Possibly the unintended deception was useful in my lobbying career, since opponents underestimated me, but as soon as I left the job, the shoes joined the platform sandals in the back of the closet.

When I ran a restaurant, working in a commercial kitchen on wet linoleum with hot, heavy and sharp objects, I got even more serious about shoes. Once, while draining pasta, I lost my grip on the pot and poured a cascade of boiling water down my left leg. My friend Nancy, and Dick the mail man got a shocking, swift striptease as I pulled off pants, shoe and sock and slapped a bag of frozen peas to my already blistering foot. My sneakers had a mesh top which offered little or no protection. I worked the rest of the catering gig with frozen vegetables strapped to my foot, and wore sandals for a month. I drained pasta more carefully in future, and made sure my cooking shoes were solid on top.

Now I buy low heeled, shoes with good support and tread, sandals of the crunchy-granola type, clunky and sturdy, boots that are warm, water proof and non-slip, and for color at an affordable price, I wear crocks. As I walk home with a back pack full of groceries, climb the steep hill to babysit my great nephew, head across town to a friend's house for a jam session, or help my mother load groceries and gear up the mammoth stairway to our family cabin, I know that these are the shoes that best suit my lifestyle.

But maybe, maybe some day a pair of high heeled, brightly colored, tooled leather toad stabbers will come my way, and I'll wear them, just to dance.