What? A Girl's Got to Accessorize?

There are definitely some advantages to living without a man in the house. My own closet. My own stash of ice cream. Pink sheets. Violet sheets. Flowery sheets. Watching whateverthehellIwant on TV.

And then? There are those moments where I reeeeeaaaally could use a man.

Take for example the sweet and serene scene of a Mom gently tucking her little boy into bed. She lovingly pulls back the sheets, gathers all of his favorite stuffed creatures, plumps the pillows in just the right... HOLY SHIT WHAT IS THAT ON HIS PILLOW?

...

I'm pretty sure it looked more like this, actually:

What's a Mom to do...but scream? Duh. Then, ask children to hurrythefuckup and run and get a shoe. I figure I'm best suited to keep an eye on the thing (although I really couldn't have missed the dragon-sized-beast feverishly crawling on my son's pillow) while the youngins' run and fetch me a weapon.

"Hurry please. Go get me a shoe."

"Where?"

"In my closet. Hurry. Quick. Shoe."

....

...

"Hellooooo? Just get a shoe. Any shoe. Quickly."

"Tatum," (I think Chase spotted some legos or something far more interesting along the way) "Where are you?"

"Mommy, I'm tryyyyyying."

...

...

"Tatum, I can't take my eye off this thing. Just.Grab.A.Shoe.Right.Now."

About 40twentyhundred16 minutes later, she shows up with a lovely red ballet flat. One which I know damn well was not the most conveniently located shoe in the closet. In fact, it would have taken some perusing, reaching, tippy-toes, major yoga moves to find that shoe.

It's a shoe she has had a penchant for borrowing once before.

Apparently, a it's an innate sense that a girl must always choose exactly the right shoe for every event.

I Want to Keep the Shoe

My husband knows the rules.  There are two things OFF LIMITS to his judgement.  I can spend money on these things however I see fit, and he gets NO say in the matter.  Those two things are, of course:

1.  Haircuts

2.  Shoes

(And maybe about 14 hundred and 33 other things, but that's part of a woman's mystery.)

So when (one of) my (kind of) favorite black, strappy shoes pulled a little trick on me called The Shoe Is Separating From The Sole and another little trick called The Elastic Is About To Give On The Cute Strappy Part, I chose not to send them to Shoe Heaven.  Instead, I took them to Tiny's.

Tiny's Shoe Repair situated in a tiny little strip mall shop that likely once was a film drop-off, is occupied by two tiny little employees with (presumably) tiny little feet.  

So I walk in the tiny door.

Me:  Hi.  Uh, do you repair shoes?  (Dumb question.  Dumb question.)

Tiny Lady:  You want fix shoe?

Me:  Yes.  The sole is separating from the shoe part.  And it looks like the strappy thingies are just about to give.  

Tiny Lady:  Oh.  You LIKE the shoe?

Me:  Uh, yes.  I like the shoes.

Tiny Lady:  You want to KEEP the shoe?

Me:  Yes.  I'd like to keep both shoes.

Tiny Lady:  You want to PAY to fix the shoe.

Me:  Um, yes.  

Tiny Lady:  What you put on shoe?  

Me:  (Sheepishly...)  Well, I was hoping no one would notice that.  But, uh, I was kind of in a bind.  I was working and my shoe started falling apart so I did the only thing I knew how to do.  I used the hot glue gun.  

Tiny Lady:  Oh.  It cost more to fix hah glue.  I have to clean hah glue first.

Me:  Okay.

Tiny Lady:  You LIKE the shoe?

Me:  Yes.  I like the shoes.

Tiny Lady:  You want to PAY to fix the shoe?

Me:  Yes.  Please.  I'll pay.

Tiny Lady:  It cost 25 dollar.  

Me:  Okay.

Tiny Lady:  You LIKE the shoe?

(Sheez lady.  I know.  They're cheap-ass shoes.  I think I got them from Marshall's.  I think I paid about $15 for them, but YES, I LIKE THE SHOE.  I like BOTH shoes.)

Tiny Lady:  Your Husband like the shoe?

Me:  ........  Actually, no.

Which brings me back to my original point.  He gets no say in my shoes.  And Sunday, when I get my haircut, he better not ask me if I like the hair.

(Shoe photo from my Bitchy friends.)

(I miss you shoes.  Come back home safely.)