So Many Dishes

They have on my shoe rack, unworn, for at least 10 years now, faded, beat up, soles almost worn through, but I just can’t part with my ruby slippers.

They’re a pair of shoes I wouldn’t have bought on my own. It was a Saturday, Ken and I had been out for lunch, then stopped at the mall so that I could visit the makeup counter in one of the department stores. While I was making my purchase, Ken wandered into the adjacent women’s shoe department, where there was a sale going on.

When I went to find him, Ken pulled me to one of the sales racks. “You need to try these on,” he said, as he pulled down a shoe box containing shiny red shoes with heels higher than any shoes I’d ever owned. I looked at him skeptically, but put them on. They were gorgeous, and amazingly comfortable. The price was right. But still, I hesitated.

“What would I wear these with,” I asked him, mentally taking inventory of my wardrobe. A woman who was also looking through the racks and overheard me turned around. “Wear them with what you have on,” she said. “They look great. Buy the shoes.”

She was right. Suddenly, wearing jeans and high heels made sense. So yes, I bought the shoes.

Those shoes went to restaurants and concerts, both those I attended and performances I conducted. Thanks to my ruby slippers, I learned to love high heels, and still wear them on occasion (much to my podiatrist’s dismay).

I have not, however, clicked my heels together three times when wearing them. The ruby slippers have already worked enough magic.