Lost on the Rails

Attention Sisterhood of the Travelling Pants.

I have located your shoes.

These silvery stilettos have been seen lying in the middle of the 42nd Street shuttle tracks at Track 1, just beyond the Stairway to Nowhere on the Grand Central Terminal side.

Pray tell Sisters: How have your soles survived the absence of these party shoes? What roads have your heels travelled? How can they stack up to the stories swirling in my imagination? What tales of your night life might these strappy numbers tell?

Alas, my vivid imagining of your revels quickly succumbed to my gag reflex. The sight of a very large rodent lying quite bloodily squished to death by subway car not inches from these accessories brought to an abrupt end my daydreaming.

Too bad.

Shoes -- Hazards of Commuting

I was getting dressed this morning and went looking for my black shoes. Now, I'm no Imelda Marcos, but I have more shoes than I'm comfortable owning. Since I have such a small apartment, I only keep them in three places: by the front door (where they end up when I kick them off immediately upon entering -- before I even close the door), on a rack on the inside of a closet door, or under the bed in the "seasonal storage." No where could I find the pair I wanted. Until I remembered! Most of my black shoes are already at work ... under the desk! Don't believe me?

Yes, that's four pairs of black shoes of varying heel heights and one of the brown. There would be a pair of blue heels too, but the "New York" code of dress doesn't include as much blue as black. In my defense, at least all of these shoes are different sizes and shapes. I swear my mother has 16 pairs of the same exact same shoes -- in black.

Now, personally, I HATE (loathe, despise, despair at wearing) heels, so the fact that there's only one pair of flats under the desk and I'm wearing another pair of black heels is strange. I'd rather be barefoot. In another work lifetime I was barefoot as much as possible, running around the office or outside in the grass come rain or shine. Puddles were my friend, shoes were the enemy.

Alas, commuting through the concrete jungle to the corporate world does not give one the same foot freedom. Sidewalks, subways, and the Big Grey Box are not conducive to bare feet. (Just think about the grossness of "curbing the dog," pigeons, and the lack of public restrooms. YUCK!) Plus, I have issues with things between my toes, so no flip-flops. I also have a a tendency to be graceless, to walk out of shoes with no backs, or to twist my ankles while wearing heels.

See my dilemma? Barefoot is better, but I have to wear shoes to protect myself. Maybe I better take my shoes home tonight rather than wear the sneakers to and fro like so many commuting women?

Me thinks there is a trip to Payless or D.S.W. Shoe Warehouse in my future. But I can guarantee that I will never, ever, ever be caught wearing a pair of these. I fall over in flats, these would kill me dead.

P.S. If you think I have a problem with shoes, check out my brother's series on his many pairs (all 8 of them!)

Murphy's Law

Here's my solution to the drought crisisii of the world:

Throw a black-tie gala with lots of outdoor locations, under a tent, with lots of VIPs scheduled to arrive by car service, and lots of money to raise.

Yes, I know this sounds weird, but bear with me.

You are guaranteed a 95% chance of rain. Not Irish/Seattle sunshine kind of rain, which is a light mist or drizzle. You'll get a full-blown gale, with pouring down side-way rain of puppies and kitties, with huge puddles, and cold-n-damp, which renders an umbrella basically useless.

I kid you not. Here's my evidence for this hypothesis.

At my last non-profit job, whenever we threw the annual black-tie gala, 9 times out of 10, it would be exactly as described as above, but much worse, as the tent was set up on the grass fields -- which rapidly became mud pits. (Well, until they started sacrificing the small woodland creatures, but that's another post). Women would still wear stilettos, which was ridiculous. People wouldn't bring umbrellas. Also ridiculous. Don't you listen to the weather forecast? Just because you are wearing black-tie, does that mean you have your own clear-weather bubble? NO!

Flash forward a year and a half later to the current job's every-other year gala. For the last two weeks, it's been beautiful, sunny, and warm. Guess what it's doing today?

Pouring down cold and freezing rain.
In N.Y.C.
In two venues.
Blocks apart.

Guess who's on umbrella patrol -- AGAIN!?

Not little Ms. Sunshine, let me just tell you that.

Crap. I hate black-tie, dressy, heel-necessary Galas ... IN THE RAIN!