But there was no mention of a sale or a charity. The invitation asked me to come enjoy the company of my "sole mates," and to wear my funkiest, dreamiest, or most comfy shoes...to go wild, or not. A girls' night out!
I looked through my closet and brought out a shocking pink pantsuit and a blue spiky wig. No blue or pink shoes in there, though. I ran to PayLess.
For eighteen dollars I found six-inch stilettos in a pink, blue, and white floral. I pictured my back twisted like a pretzel after five minutes in those beauties. But the immediate issue was getting them on over the balls of my bunions.
I went up a size and, like Cinderella, slid the shoe over my left foot. For some reason, probably having to do with the right side of my brain being dominant, my left foot is one-quarter-inch larger than my right. So going up a size was automatic, and I'd brought along some knee-highs to make the slide less painful. I held onto the shelving and tried to stand up. Miraculously, I was able to take a few steps. "Perfect," I thought, "as long as I don't have to stand to talk, drink, or eat."
A photographer snapped shots of the most unique pairs among the fifty that stepped over the threshold that night. Who would've guessed - our hostess had on my exact shoes! Well, they weren't exactly the same, since she'd used a glue gun to encrust the six-inch heels in crystals.
That was just the opener for our hostess' creativity. The living room showcased magnificent pairs, including red sparklers resembling Dorothy's from "The Wizard of Oz." Quotes around the room brought to mind Imelda Marcos' famous line during her exile, "They went into my closets looking for skeletons, but thank God, all they found were shoes, beautiful shoes." Eight-and-one-half-by-eleven-inch renderings of Prada, Jimmy Choo, Chanel, Dior, Givenchy, Ferragamo, complete with peacock feathers and laces to the knee, surrounded the dining room. A miniature shoe collection sat in the center of the table. In the downstairs party room, tables were set for dinner with a single shoe and "Fifty Shades"-type poem as centerpieces. We found our assigned seats and admired the red, purple, and gold footwear painted by our hostess on three-foot-by-three-foot canvases around the room.
Fifty ladies in a conga line, wearing shoes they couldn't stand in (or not wearing them - I'd jettisoned mine under the table), created an indelible image. In a contest we guessed the most expensive pair on the shelves at Nordstrom. The answer was a $3900 pair of Christian Louboutin's, but the winner didn't receive shoes for a prize. She received wine - even better! We formed a circle to pass decorated flip-flops to our right and left, over and over, until our hostess said, "What you hold in your hand right now is yours." I ended up with pink ones, topped by floppy white roses.
It was our hostess' birthday, and the two-tiered cake boasted a Cinderella-like crystal shoe on top. But it was our hostess' daughter who made the night so memorable.
"Our family's been through a lot in the last several years," she began, "and yet we feel so fortunate to celebrate Mom's birthday with you. There's nothing more important in life than friendship, love, and the memories we create together...not our jobs, not our houses, not our clothes, not even our shoes!"
