“Honey, you really should enrich your taste in footwear, you know,” Octavian once complained. “You’ve got half-a-dozen shoes that look pretty much the same!”
Oh, well… I can’t deny that my fondness of high-heeled, revealing shoes is a little over the line. There are little variations in my collection of shoes. If there are any shoes I’ve got that are not high-heeled and revealing, you can bet I didn’t buy them. They must be gifts, either from my husband or his sister.
I simply love wearing high-heels (despite the pain they cause me after hours of wearing them), primarily due to my lack of height. I’m considerably petite (only 5’3”), so wearing high-heels really helps to boost my self-confidence. Also, I don’t like to cramp my toes, so I prefer my shoes to be revealing.
Several months ago, however, I read a short-story by Takashi Atoda, entitled The Destiny of Shoes. It tells of an old shoemaker who fell into a conversation with a young woman on a train. The old man told the young woman that shoes actually had souls. Some shoes were destined to keep their wearers traveling on and on, some enticed women to flirt, and some energized the people wearing them. But there was also the kind of shoes that wanted to die. Later on, the young woman found out that the shoemaker had committed suicide. Only then had she realized how notably extraordinary the dead man’s shoes were… the shoes that wanted to die.
So, last month, when Octavian took me to a shoe counter in Sidoarjo, I picked for myself a pair of silvery slippers. He raised an eyebrow and asked, “Slippers? Since when do you have an eye for slippers?”
“Well, Dear,” I smiled. “It’s about time I make a little change of taste in fashionable footwear.”
But still, I maintain the heels considerably high.
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