Let me tell you about my yesterday morning: I was ginning around, getting ready, leisurely, for work. I made the grave mistake of checking e mail and found one from my soon-to-be-ex that discombobulated me. I see some enterprising author has written a whole book on this subject; must check it out.
I’m always telling my clients, “Don’t let him get to you…just shake it off.” Well, let me tell you: easier said than done.
Anyway, the morning kept creeping by as I stewed and carefully crafted a reply, and suddenly I realized that I HAD to get out the door. A trial awaited.
Being a Southern girl, I always put my shoes on last thing, preferring to pad around barefoot til the last moment. I ran to the closet and, not bothering to turn on the light, grabbed a pair of shoes, shoved them on and headed out the door.
Now, recall that I live about 15 miles out of town. As I drove down the road, I made my morning wake-up call to MIL, thought about the plans for the busy, busy day, and something shoved itself to the forefront of my brain.
Little Voice said to me, “By the way, just which cubby-hole did you snatch those shoes from?” [Insert “Gong” sound here]. I looked down at my feet (no small task in my little Rav4). Yes, it was true. I had on chocolate brown shoes. Do you have any idea how “bright” chocolate brown leather can look against the somber of black business trousers?
I had recently purchased two pairs of shoes—identical except one was black and one brown. They were comfortable and affordable, so I bought two! (Very unlike me—I do not have a shoe fetish). I had grabbed the brown instead of the black.
I flashed back to another shoe story years ago when I had arrived at church with one blue and one green shoe. My husband had offered, “No one will notice; and if they do, they’ll think they’re supposed to be like that…” (Stupid). It was not a good memory. This just would not work.
I called my legal-assistant-sister, explaining what I had done, “I’m driving back home,” I said, “I’ll call when I’m nearly at the office. You stand out on the corner and throw the file at me as I drive by on the way to the courthouse.” (Wouldn’t my clients love to know this…Not!).
“No, way,” she intoned after ascertaining my location. “You will never make it—you will be in contempt of court.” Hmmmmmm. The balance: Fashion-correct shoes vs. Contempt of Court? It was weighing heavily toward fashion faux pas for me. What to do???
Bingo! That’s just what I did. And I purchased a pair of black shoes for a little-of-nothing. They won’t put me on the “best-dressed” list (nothing can), but at least they did not “stand out.” And they allowed me to stroll into the Courtroom supremely confident.
So, thanks to our 24-7 shopping world, which I often decry as symbolic of our fast-paced life, hypocrite that I am. I guess it just depends on the moment and the need, doesn’t it? Right now I’m very grateful for 24/7—and the shoes felt great! C