Man! I mean,
those are some great shoes, right? It
started with these ones: Man! I mean,
those are some great shoes, right?
But wait: was this the same girl? The one who bought sneakers for not more than $5.00? The one who wore the same pair of combat boots for four years, even when the nail started poking through the sole and making her foot bleed? The one who wore 6 adhesive bandages at a time and two pairs of socks and stuffed the sole of the combat boot with cotton so that the nail wouldn't poke as hard?
Oh, but look at these ones. Just look!
She was suitably distracted and forced her feet to carry her on a new mission: To buy every shoe she could find on sale and in her size. Now, she got big feet, y'all. Finding a shoe in a bargain bin, a pretty shoe, in her size: well, it was magic. Meant to be. (Who of you will tempt shoe-fate? You, in the back row? Didn't think so!)
It always seems like magic, until it happens again:
Oh damn. And again:
It wasn't about magic anymore. It wasn't about feet anymore. It was about disguising the feet and taking the magic for granted.
The crux of it became clear when the girl's feet met some sad, trapped feet. The groomsman, his feet pictured above, showed up at the wedding in his favourite red hi-tops and was forced to change into a pair of so-called respectable shoes. So, his feet clothed in someone else's shoes, his hi-tops hidden under the motel room bed, he performed his duties as groomsman dressed like someone else on a day when his presence had been requested precisely because of who he is: the type of guy who wears red hi-tops to weddings.