Once upon Stilettos

It all began with the red shoes. I just didn't know it at the time. I was out shopping with my roommate Gemma on a Saturday afternoon. That wasn't unusual. The unusual part was that we were shopping for me. Even more unusual was the fact that we were shopping for something for me to wear on a date--a real date. Not a blind-date setup, but an honest-to-goodness date with a guy who'd asked me out for a second date after a first date that could have made the record books for weirdness. Any guy who asks you out for a second date even though he nearly had a nervous breakdown caused by your friends and coworkers on the first date has to be pretty special. He deserves a little extra effort. And that's why Gemma and I were in Bloomingdale's that Saturday. "Let's go upstairs and look at shoes," she urged me, tugging at my sleeve. "But we haven't found anything for me to wear yet," I protested. "How are we going to figure out what shoes I need?" She looked at me with pity in her eyes and shook her head sadly, like a doctor about to tell me I had two weeks to live. "Oh, Katie, honey. You have so much to learn. We need to find the ultimate pair of shoes, and then we'll build an outfit around them." When she bypassed the moderate shoes and continued up the escalators to the designer boutiques, I got the impression that her "ultimate" would exceed my budget. "Gemma," I warned, trying not to whine, "if we buy shoes up here, then I'll have to wear a plastic garbage bag as a dress, and I'll only be able to afford that if we already have some under the sink." "We only have clear ones, so I doubt you want to go there," she said, not breaking stride. "And relax, I'm not going to make you buy designer shoes. We just come here for ideas and inspiration, then we'll buy the closest thing we can find at a more reasonable price." I knew her well enough to know what she was doing, and it had nothing to do with putting together a great outfit for my date that night. She couldn't go into Bloomingdale's without making a pilgrimage to the holy shrine of shoes. Her pace quickened as we bypassed the designer boutiques and headed straight for the upscale shoe department. There she paused reverently at each display, lightly touching certain shoes. Every so often, she picked one up, held it to her breast, and closed her eyes in silent contemplation. I tried not to look at any of the shoes because I knew I couldn't afford them and there was no point in developing longings for things I couldn't have. Not only was that a wise philosophy where shoes were concerned, it was also the reason I was going on this particular date. It only made sense to go out with the guy I could have, who fit every requirement I could think of for a man, rather than pining over someone I couldn't have. Ethan was good looking, intelligent, nice, and had a good job. He also wasn't the most powerful wizard of his generation, unlike someone else I could mention but didn't want to think about. Blinders, remember, I warned myself. Then Gemma let out a gasp of awe mixed with longing. "Katie, look at these. You have to look at these." I lifted my eyes from the carpet to see Gemma holding a red shoe. Not just any red shoe, but a high-heeled stiletto pump that looked like it was made out of candy apple coating, all rich, shiny, red, and good enough to eat. "Nice," I admitted. "Nice? Nice? That's all you can say? These are amazing. These are shoes that say, 'Worship me.' You have to get these." "Do I really want men to worship me?" She gave me another one of those pitying looks. "Why wouldn't you?" "Because I'm not the kind of girl men worship. And I'd prefer a more equal relationship." "Wear these shoes, and you get the worship. And theSwendson, Shanna is the author of 'Once upon Stilettos ', published 2006 under ISBN 9780345481276 and ISBN 0345481275.