If the shoe fits…

Every now and then I get a little disappointed in myself that I've tossed my personal guidelines aside. Let me explain. I loathe when people are boastful or lack humility, and I realize there's the distinct possibility that yesterday's post, the Bonanno-o-rama, or any like it, may come off as boastful. 

So first and foremost, let me offer my most sincere apology. I truly don't mean to be garish and offensive.

And second… let me tell you a little ditty that I think might shed some light on the situation.

. . . 

When I was a little girl (oh… it always starts like that, doesn't it?) I had the most difficult time fitting into shoes. Three, four, five years old and we could never just go to the department store to pick up a cute pair of Mary Janes or Saddle Shoes. I had all these sweet little dresses and nothing equally sweet to wear them with.

I had to go to "The Special Shoe Store."

I'm not kidding. I had to go to a specialty (read: freak) store to get shoes because my feet were so ridiculously wide. I still remember them being judged measured in that metal foot measure-y thing and the sales man yelling out like a carnival barker "Triple E"! (Maybe he didn't yell, but it sure sounded like it to my humiliated, little five-year-old ears.)

EEE!!!

Needless to say, this was horribly embarrassing. Big Foot Leesie. That's what they called me. Okay, they didn't really call me that, but I betcha they would have if they'd known I was three and a half feet tall with Triple E width feet! So I had to wear those uggo Buster Brown shoes for "special" kids with "special" feet from the "special" store. I hated them. 

(See those red ones in row 2 up there? I had those. They were horrid. And the white high-top ones that look like Doc Martens? Yeah, I had those too! Ugh.)

Parenthetically, I also hated the cable knit leotards mommy made me wear because they sagged at the crotch and they hurt my chubby thighs as they rubbed together. But this is not a story of the scars I bear because of those repulsive leotards. It's about the feet. The big big big feet.

. . .

Later on in my so very sad life, I had a smashing pair of white wellies just like my mom's. I was eight or nine years old, and believe it or not, mommy's wellies were a size smaller than mine. One day, I had mistakenly put hers on instead of mine, with bare feet no less, and when it came time to come in from playing in the puddles, I couldn't get them off!

My big fat feet were suctioned right into the damn boots and there was no budging them. I tugged and pulled and stretched, yet all I did was discover another way to make a farting sound. The boots were S.T.U.C.K. stuck. I cried and cried, "Get them off meeeeeee!" 

I'm sorry to report those boots met their tragic end that day when my mom had to literally cut them off with scissors to free me from my self-imposed pedalian, rubber prison.

. . .

Flash forward with me now to the year 2006 and the day my world changed. I was practically wearing cardboard cereal boxes tied to my feet when I read about a sandal company in Florida that made the most delightful, handmade, leather footwear. Not only was the product beautiful and affordable, it was – excuse me whilst I choke back the tears a moment – custom made to fit. 

Do you understand what I'm saying here? Custom. Made. To. Fit.

I swear to you, it was like for the first time in my life I was one of the cool kids. I could be part of the gang. They could no longer laugh at me and point at the hideous, flapping monstrosities pulsating and oozing at the end of my legs. They wouldn't throw stones at me anymore. I no longer had to wear UGGs to church in the summer!

Yep that's my story. Stephen Bonanno Sandals offered me everything I ever wanted in footwear. Surely one can forgive me for being a tad over indulgent in the pursuit of happy feet?

Linnaria with Silver Palm Beach Classics, August 9, 2011

. . .

Epilogue
In the winter I wear one of two pairs of ballet flats, or one of three pairs of UGGs. That's all I have. That's all I wear.