(no subject)

I always wanted a pair of red shoes.

One might blame the HCA story for this: when first I read it, as with many of HCA's stories, I thought ... wha ... ?  As if to make up for that story, I have wished for red shoes, ever since. 

When my parents went to London?  I asked them to bring me a pair of oxblood red knee-high Docs. 

They did.

(I was 18.)

However, I almost never wear them, because they have low heels (a fact that I should have recognized, frankly, before they bought them: they do, however, make for excellent snow-boots).

Since then, I have searched: for pumps, for loafers, for shoes and (more) fulfilling boots.

My dearest wish is for a pair of red granny-boots, like Nanny Ogg's.

(Well, okay, not my dearest wish, but, still.)

Since then, I have found turquoise sandals with wooden heels, and spikes and jewels: I have found emerald green loafers with buckles and heels; I have found silver walking shoes, and black pumps galore.

But never, never, had I found a pair of fitting red shoes.

Until last week.

And, guess what?  They chafe.

Today, I half-wrote some appropriate reviews: I pondered the idea of another Goblin Market article (hints appreciated*); I went and shot some pool with shrodingersgnu  before eating a pleasant dinner at the Cottage; I comforted a friend, post-break-up.

And I wore my red shoes.  I received two compliments on them.  One, from two random individuals who felt the need to comment as I exited a liquor store, one from the broken-up friend.  Both were emotionally satisfying, neither made up for the enormous bloody blisters.

So.  While I may be willing to admit that, perhaps, HCA got it right on the subject of red shoes, I am unwilling to abandon them, and plan to wear them through the blistering heat: I refuse to be conquered by shoes.

Anyone got any ideas on how far I have to walk to the Goblin Market?** 

*So far, I've got the Markets from Stardust and Neverwhere, and the one from Rosemary Edgehill's unfinished sextet, and Poppy Z. Brite's description from Drawing Blood as an example of the ideal of the Market in the mundane world, but .... any additional suggestions would be appreciated.

**Anybody, and I do mean anybody, who quotes threescore miles and ten at me will be forced to dance in the fucking things.

(no subject)

I always wanted a pair of red shoes.

One might blame the HCA story for this: when first I read it, as with many of HCA's stories, I thought ... wha ... ?  As if to make up for that story, I have wished for red shoes, ever since. 

When my parents went to London?  I asked them to bring me a pair of oxblood red knee-high Docs. 

They did.

(I was 18.)

However, I almost never wear them, because they have low heels (a fact that I should have recognized, frankly, before they bought them: they do, however, make for excellent snow-boots).

Since then, I have searched: for pumps, for loafers, for shoes and (more) fulfilling boots.

My dearest wish is for a pair of red granny-boots, like Nanny Ogg's.

(Well, okay, not my dearest wish, but, still.)

Since then, I have found turquoise sandals with wooden heels, and spikes and jewels: I have found emerald green loafers with buckles and heels; I have found silver walking shoes, and black pumps galore.

But never, never, had I found a pair of fitting red shoes.

Until last week.

And, guess what?  They chafe.

Today, I half-wrote some appropriate reviews: I pondered the idea of another Goblin Market article (hints appreciated*); I went and shot some pool with shrodingersgnu  before eating a pleasant dinner at the Cottage; I comforted a friend, post-break-up.

And I wore my red shoes.  I received two compliments on them.  One, from two random individuals who felt the need to comment as I exited a liquor store, one from the broken-up friend.  Both were emotionally satisfying, neither made up for the enormous bloody blisters.

So.  While I may be willing to admit that, perhaps, HCA got it right on the subject of red shoes, I am unwilling to abandon them, and plan to wear them through the blistering heat: I refuse to be conquered by shoes.

Anyone got any ideas on how far I have to walk to the Goblin Market?** 

*So far, I've got the Markets from Stardust and Neverwhere, and the one from Rosemary Edgehill's unfinished sextet, and Poppy Z. Brite's description from Drawing Blood as an example of the ideal of the Market in the mundane world, but .... any additional suggestions would be appreciated.

**Anybody, and I do mean anybody, who quotes threescore miles and ten at me will be forced to dance in the fucking things.