My Outfit Monday: That time I got free Manolos and Loubs for doing absolutely nothing to earn them
Sometimes, it feels like the world just takes and takes. And then other times, something happens that makes you go, "I must be living right." Or at least, "There must be a constantly aging portrait of me in very ugly shoes hanging on a wall somewhere."
Let me tell you about that moment.
It was a week ago. We were having one of our semi-annual office clothing swaps, and I had already been down to the pile, selecting a couple cute things, a skirt here, a dress there, a necklace yonder. It was a pleasantly expected clothing swap haul.
Back at my desk, a mysterious benefactor approached. This person wishes to remain nameless on this blog because she is modest and full of sophistication and sophisticated people don't gloat (BUT I DO). She had a shopping bag. Inside, two pairs of shoes still inside their original velvet shoe sacks. I do not have any velvet shoe sacks, so this should be a clue regarding where this is going.
"Do you want to try these before I take them downstairs?"
THEY WERE MANOLO BLAHNIKS AND CHRISTIAN LOUBOUTINS. THEY WERE MY SIZE. I JEST NOT.
She apologized because the bottom of the Loubs were midly scratched because she had once walked on gravel. I, in turn, died. I took the shoes from her, trembling. The classy person across from me seemed confused as to why I was so, as they say in the ladies pages, hysterical. But you know. When it comes to quantity, I have shoes en masse. When it comes to quality, I'm tooling right down It'll Do Highway somewhere between Macy's Lane and Target Alley. I have never once ventured onto Red Bottom Terrace.
"DON'T YOU DARE TAKE THESE DOWNSTAIRS," I howled. "I WILL FIND A WAY TO MAKE THEM FIT."
Fortuantely, it wasn't hard. The Manolos, nude and strappy, fit splendidly. The Loubs, which are nautical in theme and involve blue and white striped ankle ribbons, and which I forgot to photograph before leaving the house the morning (sorry), also fit pretty well.
I wore the Manolos today, with a favorite red dress from the Dillard's Clearance Center in Tampa, a Limited blazer and a necklace from the clothing swap. (I have no explanation for the pose, other than that I was feeling victorious and Lisa was standing nearby art directing, saying "You're a lioness! Something is attacking your cub!").
I can already tell the quality and engineering is superior to anything I have. These shoes are level. They do not usher in that wobbly feeling that one gets in cheap shoes, in which one feels like one will tip back into the nearest retention pond. These do not inspire fear of hammer toe surgery. These are not going to fall apart at the same rapid pace as my shoes from Shoe Carnival Junction. But I can't help but feel like I'm walking around a little more delicately today, careful not to jam the clutch so hard on my car, careful not to clomp around like a crazy lady holding stacks of newspapers.
I don't really know what to say, except to express my thanks and sheer dumb luck. I have no advice here, other than to keep on keeping on, and maybe one day someone will walk up to your desk with two pairs of designer shoes in your size. I believe in you.