As I was about half-way to shul this morning, for some unknown impulse, I looked down at my shoes. I was supposed to be wearing my brown pumps to match my brown suit.
I was wearing one of them…
So I walked back home, found the other brown shoe (for whatever reason, I had found a black one to be its mate, not the same heel height, so go figure), and started out again. This time, I was walking with another shul-goer who is a much faster walker than I when I am wearing pumps, but we walked and talked and got to shul to hear the bar mitzvah boy being introduced by ISHI with “And now we are all eager to hear what so-and-so has to say” and the crowd (well, the ones that bet on what he is going to say) went wild with “what?”
And then I looked at my feet, because by that time, the left one, the one that had been wearing the black shoe until I rudely interrupted its wearing, really was hurting me. Yup, big blister. And I got to dance in those tootsies (the feet, not the shoes) tomorrow. Big wedding, lots of travel, lots of excitement.
Oh, so I’ll take the shoes off and have a ball. Can’t stop a girl from dancing, so don’t even try.