All that glitters...

Being the first to wear them in 1972, I was sure that my size 7 Cinderella toes would slip effortlessly into the iridescent soles and we would become “one” again….
I couldn’t resist. There in my daughter’s Christmas pile, was the recycled Nike box, lined with soft white tissue paper……and the shoes. Silver platforms that took me up 18 flights of stairs and back again a dozen times between sets at the David Bowie Concert, shoes that , get this... I wore with painter’s pants, a glittered belt and almost nothing on my chest, to Rosie O’Grady’s for nickel beer night. The shoes I balanced on while dancing on a fluorescent coffee table to Pink Floyd in Christian’s garage apartment.

SLB gave them to Haley for Christmas, continuing the “gift that keeps on giving” tradition. And since Haley’s been borrowing from my closet, my pocket book, my make-up box and dresser drawers for years, I plucked them from her tidy little stack of presents without guilt.

I just HAD to wear them. For old times sake.

Well, after 30 years, two broken toes, and an extra ten pounds, it was a TIGHT SQUEEZE to say the least. If it weren’t for that damn pinky toe, still swollen three months after pirouetting in the living room at 2 A.M., I might have been able to stand it. But then there was the fact that, feet don’t fail me now, these glittered babies have been worn by three generations of Campbell Clan Chics….. Some with size 9 feet, some size 6, some with little cheese curl toes, and some with very BIG big toes, some with high arches, some with flat feet, some with a ballerina’s grace, others without. The platform is now a well worn rocker…. So wobbling down the hall in my cocktail dress, trying to maintain balance, (4 hours BEFORE the party began) I began to feel a little sea sick. They hi-jacked forward if you took off too fast, and sort of sliiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiid on the tile if you stopped too suddenly. Maybe if I practiced a bit. “Let me try a shimmy” ….pretty good. Dip …..pretty good. Grind…..pretty good. Twirl ….. “Oh, God, here I go again” , flat on my ya-ya with my silver shoes and puffed up pinky toe pointing towards the ceiling!

I gave up. Raced to Bealls and tossed a pair of beaded oyster slides onto the counter and handed over the card that’s accepted everywhere.

It was the thought that counts.