I just returned from my Harvard trip, and realized I forgot to post this before I left…
I just bought two pairs of shoes that I didn’t really want. I am very depressed.
I am going to Harvard next week, and I keep getting e-mails about the dress code. Because we will be walking to most places on cobblestone streets, we are being told that “flats are great.” We are also being told to dress professionally. And there is my conundrum. Because the only women who wear flats and are professionals are nuns, in my opinion.
The only “flats” I like are flip-flops. According to many bosses I have worked for, flip-flops do not fall into the “professional” category.
Flats with closed toes make me look short. None of the e-mails forbade me to look short. But I still don’t want to look short. Because that makes me feel squat. And squat = fat.
I decided that I might be able to compromise by wearing wedges, which are flat on the bottom, but would not make my foot flat, and my legs short, and my stomach fat.
I was thinking about this very issue the other night when the Cap’n and I went out on a date. A woman passed by who was wearing the perfect combination of professionally flat shoes that I had pictured in my brain. They were black, peep-toe wedges with a bit of leopard print near the toes.
“She is wearing MY shoes,” I hissed to Cap’n Firepants.
Cap’n Firepants was not looking at her shoes. She was a very attractive woman, who was very tall, and had many other attractive attributes besides her perfect flats.
I considered asking the woman where she had bought her shoes. And if she had bought her other attractive attributes as well. But I had not had a glass of wine yet, so I was not feeling very assertive. After two glasses of wine, my self-confidence returned in such full force that I fully believed that I did not need those stupid shoes anyway because I am so wonderful that I can wear any pair of shoes – even the ones with the separate toes – and I will look professional and unsquat – and even, to some, attractive.
After I slept off my two glasses of wine, and awoke my normal, pusillanimous self, I panicked. With one day left until my trip, I made a last-ditch effort to find some appropriate footwear by visiting two mega shoe stores in my neighborhood. At each one, I broke my Cardinal Rule of Shoe Shopping (to spend money only on Shoes That Make Me Look Awesome), and bought a Pair That Makes Me Look Like A Woman Who Wears Pantsuits.
Even as I write this post, I am glaring at the shoe boxes holding my Sensible Shoes. My eyes wander and light on a bin in the corner of the room. A bin of duct tape. The leopard print roll is right on top.
Maybe I can salvage these shoes after all…