I think it's time to give up my Birkenstocks. And maybe start carrying a purse. I'm completely serious.
It's one thing to be young and cute and wear ugly shoes sort of ironically. I think I'm at a point in my life, though, where they're just bringing me down, making me look schlumpy. So, as soon as someone gets back from Paris, I'm grabbing her and going shopping for cute shoes suitable for everyday wear. Unless my husband is reading this. In which case, I'm totally not going shopping at all.
I will miss them. My Birkenstocks and I have shared some good memories. I remember one time in particular. I was at a lecture at Florence Griswold. I had been there earlier in the month with Lauren for a children's event and was horrified to discover I looked just like all the other moms in jeans, a white tee, loafers, and a navy pea coat. It was a revelation. A sad, sad revelation. I knew I had to change.
When I returned for a grown up lecture about the materials used by American Impressionists, I was debuting a new look. I wore Gap Long & Lean jeans (Obviously. Let's not get crazy.) with a charcoal gray Banana Republic v-neck sweater, white cami, a very arts & crafty scarf that was felted orange on one side and pink satin on the other. The orange side of the scarf had two red felt roses sewn on. It was very dimensional. I carried an LL Bean Bag. And, last but not least, I wore Birkenstocks with socks. It was a masterpiece. And do you know what happened to me that day? Some fantastic older fella sat right next to me. And it wasn't even the last seat available. He chose that seat. He was the kind of older guy I totally go for: tan pants, collared shirt, cashmere sweater, corduroy jacket. You know, retired rich guy. But he was also really smart. Or maybe not, but I was super impressed that he had a leather notebook with him. That he used to record notes. On the lecture. Is anyone getting this? OK, well, he was delightful and do you know what he asked me after I was already a little bit in love with him? He asked me if I was a painter. A painter! Like an artist painter.
I think it was the Birkenstocks.
But that was a long time ago. I just don't feel like they're working for me anymore. They've got to go. Along with the LL Bean bag. It's luggage. I've been dragging around luggage. So sad.
And, finally, Happy Birthday to Mr Blyleaf. Kind of an awkward transition? Not at all. What better gift could I give him than to spend the better part of this post reminiscing about a compliment from a random stranger? It's what we call around here par for the course.
I think he makes 36 look not half bad.
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