Sigh. Homecoming (the first) is over. The Girl survived the
dance, the social activity, the . . . heels.
The drama can safely be set aside, but only for two weeks. Remember, she
didn’t go to Homecoming at her own school.
Let’s get take a step back to those heels. I’ve mentioned
she’s petite. She wears a size four shoe. Kids. There aren’t a lot of dress
shoe options there. A helpful saleswoman once told us a kids’ size four is the
same as a women’s size six. We picked out a pair of wedges, she tried them,
walked in them, life is good. Until later when I caught her stuffing tissue in
the toe because they were a size too big.
And why was this not mentioned at the shoe store? Teenage girl. Enough said.
With this in mind, we went shoe shopping again on Thursday.
I couldn’t reasonably continue putting it off, even though I really dreaded
this activity. Black shoes. That’s all I wanted. Black shoes that fit. Looking.
Okay, black shoes that fit and look like they belong with a semi-formal dress
not on a five-year-old.
We said a lot of things like “OMG, what were they thinking
when they put that bow there?” and “Is that a flower? Why in the name of all
that’s holy are there dead flowers on that shoe and why do they look like
pom-poms?”
In desperation, I eyed the size sixes. They were largely
stilettos and The Girl had only graduated as far as a two inch wedge with
tissue in the toe to make it fit. Oh dear. There wasn’t even a simple paten
leather black flat or kitten heel. Really? How basic is that? They did have
some matte black pumps, but she hated them. And they weren’t dressy at all.
I handed her a shiny black spike heeled shoe. It was still
two and a half inches, but hey, I was desperate. And a bad mother.
She glared at me.
“Try it.”
Still glaring, she slid one on, and threatened to fall over.
Drama Princess.
“Put the other one on, you’ll balance better.”
She put the other one on, and I coaxed her into tottering
down the aisle and back. It wasn’t pretty. We returned to looking at the size
fours, then the three and a halves.
The Girl saw a pair of fancy stilettos - in a size six. Strappy with rhinestones.
Suddenly she was willing to give it another shot. Three inch heel. She was near
tears.
“Honey, it’s just like walking, only your heel is focused on
this little point. The ball of your foot is the same as in a sandal.” It’s
pretty true. “Women have been doing this for a long time. You can do it if you
put your mind to it. It’s kind of like walking on tip-toes, except you have
somewhere to put your heel, so it’s really a lot easier.” She can tip-toe, any three-year-old can do
that!
The pep talk worked. She slid them on and gave it another
go. We practiced in the store, then at home. Apparently she’s a kids’ size four
or a women’s selective size six. Yeah, I toggle between two sizes too.
The Girl she was very excited because all of a sudden, she
could look me in the eye! (I’m three
inches taller than her.) She was taller, she had pretty ‘big girl’ shoes.
Homecoming wasn’t so bad.
Except of course you have to dance in them. For hours.
She survived. Now let’s get back to that ‘this was at
another school’ issue. Now she wants to dress up again and ‘drop in’ on a
‘friend’ who has to work during Homecoming at their school. The girl was quick
to explain it wasn’t a date. She’s fifteen and can’t date yet. She’s just
dropping by so he can say that he did
Homecoming and wouldn’t that be fun?
Fun. Hubby, grab your shotgun, we’ve created a monster.
