The Low Spark of High-Heeled Hopes

I have developed a curious distraction. Sometimes when the news is bad and I feel too weary and brain dead even to read, I go online and shop for shoes. Actually, I mostly look at shoes; only rarely do I place an order, and of the shoes I order, most of them go back. Shipping is free both ways, and I limit myself to whatever is on sale, so I figure I'm keeping my risks pretty low. It’s my small guilty pleasure, not as good as ice cream, but mildly entertaining, and there's no need to drive to town.

On a recent day of flagging spirits I found myself captivated by an unusual pair of Italian “mules” (I hate that term) marked down 90% from $498. Is it possible that these were $500 shoes? I read the details and looked at them closely from all angles. (Cool how the website lets you do that.) Made in Italy, real leather, a relatively modest heel, sort of a Western cowboy boot look but open in the back, and a color that appeared to be a pale silvery sort of beige. There was only one pair left and it was just my size. Who knows? Maybe these were the shoes that could solve my existential angst. I felt lucky.

They arrived four days later. Turned out the silver was not a pale hint but the predominant hue; leather or not, they were definitely metallic. They also had an incongrous strip of genuine cowhide at the tip, and speaking of that tip, oh my, it was pointy! They were beautifully boxed and beautifully made, but these were shoes with far too much flash and glint for me. These were shoes that shouted, shoes that went to Vegas, shoes that had no future at the Ranch.

I immediately repacked them in the box for their journey back, but not before wistfully touching the soft little blue protective pouch they came with, and sighing at my own folly.