I managed to get myself a set of stitch markers for the holiday that I wanted. I belong to a Ravelry group with LadyDanio and she posted the entirety of her Doctor Who themed stitch marker line. As I've only just finished the majority of my holiday shopping this morning, I am straight out of blunt, so to speak. The emotional pain (Donna Noble is my favorite companion! J'adore Donna!) of being unable to afford them myself prompted me to ask my mother if she had, by the bye, finished shopping for me. From the first sentence of this paragraph, I'm sure you can figure out that she hadn't. Ten minutes later, the stitch markers were mine, bwhaahahahahahaahhaaa! *cough, cough*
Evil laughter has drawbacks.
For secondly, I got myself a Christmas present.
Do you see it there, all tangled in my Infinite Scarf?
There's a proper view. Squeeeee! Sparkly shoes!
I'm not really a girly girl, but I saw these shoes in a shop window a couple of months ago at the local mall and they made me so giddy stooopid happy, I wanted them instantly. I kept going back to visit them, once going so far as to try them on (in the black model--a very secret agent sexy shoe, I must say). Then last week, I managed to get my car's cd player working again (thanks to the rather skillful use of one of the discount cards on my keychain), so the gift I was going to get myself--a new car stereo--became unnecessary. The $80 I had planned to spend went back into the pot marked "Gift To Me For Christmas". And the shoes swum back out of my memory banks, glimmering softly in the shadows of my mind like shiny little piranhas, flashing here and there and then swimming back out of sight when my common sense appeared and opined, "We don't need a pair of $90 shoes! They're totally impractical! We don't even wear heels, much less 4" stiletto heels!" I considered buying them, but in black, a far more sensible color and...well, less visible. Less obviously frivolous. More wearable and less noticeable for a non-social butterfly like myself.
Then I came to myself and realized Who buys 4" platform stilettos in a 'sensible' color? Who buys them with the intent of fading into the background? I'll be six feet tall in those shoes; they could be invisible and people are still going to notice me.
Then I thought of my niece. When she was younger, she had a pair of red sparkly shoes which she loved so much she slept in them (hers were flats, she was all of three when she had them) and I recall thinking at the time, They didn't have these when I was growing up--all we had were patent leather shoes. Yet another thing I lost out on because I'm old! And suddenly, before me, grown up sparkly shoes! How could I ever resist the lure?
So I took my sparkle fetish back to the shoe store, held my breath, pointed at the gold ones and took them home (on sale! They were on sale! $10 off. Still, it's a sale!) Absolutely impractical, absolutely flashier than anything I've ever owned and utterly, completely mental. I've worn them out twice already, which is more than I can say for any other pair of shoes I've owned, other than my tennis shoes and boots. I find them easier to walk in than standard high heels. Granted, you're limited to a rather stately pace, but because of the way the soles are curved, you can't bring your weight down on the heel first; a stride that creates the rather noticeable 'clomp' most women have in high heels. You have to sort of flutter across the floor on your toes--a far more graceful way to deal with heels. Tonight I wore them at knit night and felt a bit like Morticia Addams scuttering around slowly. They also encourage better back posture in me because leaning even slightly to either side results in severe loss of balance. Those heels are very unforgiving, as they only function as gold-foiled kickstands. Actually, considering the build of the shoes, I'm only glad for them when I stop and stand. While walking, they are terribly in the way.
Twice I fell into giggles over the shoes and the walk. I was being graceful. *snicker*
I've been told the shoes are symbolic of my taking back my power (the image of stilettos as 'power heels') and asserting my dominance. Which may be true--either that or they've possessed my mind. I actually came out of the stationery cupboard with my family (granted, on FaceBook) two days after I bought them. I told my family I was freelance writing on purpose, I knew what I was doing and had a plan. I expressed my frustration at my own inability to be honest when pressured, and my desire to let them know so I could take the credit for my hard work instead of having them think it was dumb luck. My family will flip out because they're very traditional, and someone like me (ie, the baby of the family) needs a boss to keep me in line and make sure I get a paycheck. According to them, I'm far too frivolous (oh, if they only knew about the shoes) to take care of myself, I need a minder. But I've put them on notice that I am not incompetent, I know what I'm doing and I'm going to do it whether they like it or not. I've never enforced my will like that before with the family--not even in writing. The shoes, they are doing something to me.Or, perhaps it's more accurate to say, something in me has changed so I bought the shoes and expressed myself to my family.
Perhaps the shoes are just a sign that my inner Wild Child is becoming stronger, more integrated with my outer Sensible Side. My Wild Child is, after all, the one who wants to be a writer. And the shoes are particularly suited to her. They've got the power image, yes, but they're gold sparkly. Like Nieceling's old shoes. A bit of professional aggro coupled with a hysterically amused toddler.
Either way, they're so very, very fun.
My shoes and the stationery cupboard issue and the stating my purpose aloud have all been big things for me this week. I've also been trying to brainstorm some ideas for writing. I know how much I have to write for Demand Studios to make my monthly bills (one a day, Monday through Friday, every week), and that's hardly enough to keep me busy. It will, however, free me up to take some risks. And suddenly, with some four inch, gold sparkled platforms under my feet, I find I don't mind risky. I'm starting to find risky a bit sexier than I ever have before, despite the fact that my material situation hasn't changed. Considering I never gave half a tinker's damn about any job I've ever held before, I get the feeling that I have absolutely no idea precisely what I'm capable of doing, but I'm about to find out, and that's a very, very thrilling idea.
I blame the shoes. :-)
