Friday was my cousin’s wedding.  She’s my age and it was her second marriage.  I don’t get as worked up about weddings as I used to.  When I was young, a wedding was a big deal.  You spent weeks looking for just the right outfit.  You knew it was going to be a fashion parade, a blowout, a major PAR-TEE.  Now I know it’s all about the ceremony; about two people standing up in front of family and friends and promising to be there for each other, no matter what.  I cry now at weddings.  I didn’t used to when I was young.  But now I understand what it means to be married, really married and the beauty and feeling of that promise touches me deeply and reminds me of my own promise to my husband.

But back to the party part of the wedding.  I waited until the night before to decide what to wear.  Nothing too fancy, no cocktail-type dress.  After pulling out most of the dresses in my closet, I settled on a plain black v-neck wrap dress.  With the fashion advice of my husband (who,for a guy who could be mistaken for Major Dad, has an amazing eye for color and style ), I paired it with a silk jacket with an abstract pattern in shades of blue, green, and purple.  Now for the most important part  – shoes.

My husband says that he just doesn’t get the shoe thing.  Maybe it’s something we have on the X chromosome?  It doesn’t matter how much you weigh, how tall you are or how old you are; a hot pair of shoes can make you feel like a million.  I dug around the bottom of my closet, pulling out shoe boxes and peering inside until – Voila – I found them.  Never worn, purple suede stilettos.  I haven’t worn heels in awhile but it’s like riding a bike – you   never forget.

I brought them downstairs to show the Fashion Arbiter.

“Wow, those are some CFMs.” (Note: In younger days, that acronym stood for something a bit different.  Now it means “Can’t Freakin’ Move”.)  Are you going to be able to manage those?  You’re not 25, you know.”

He had just thrown down the gauntlet.

“Of course I can manage.  I’ll take my flats with me.  Just in case.  I only have to wear them a short time.  Then I can change.”

Well, I did wear them – all night.  To be honest, I kept my flats on in the car and changed when we got there.  And there was no dancing involved, just walking the buffet line.  But still – all the twenty-somethings in their sky-high heels stared with envy at my kick-ass pumps.  I could see admiration in their eyes and the thought “I hope I can still wear those when I’m her age.”  I glided through that room like the Freakin’ Queen of Sheba.  I was the Champ.

Guys don’t get it.  Shoes, Baby.  Shoes.

The Shoes

Proof I actually had them on.