Midnight found me routing around in my closet trying to decide which of my many, many, many pairs of black pumps to pack. The patent leather were obviously inappropriate, as were the four-inch peep toes. So of course the patent leather four-inch peep toes would not do either.
The Anne Kline sling backs are so lovely and timeless, but just a smidge too tight after having two kids and while too tight are okay on occasion, on this particular occasion too tight would not work. Too much standing and milling.
That left me with the sensible two inch heels which are always comfortable but make me feel like a grandma; and the three inch snake skin textured pair, which I love because the texture makes them statement shoes, and they are not so high as to be inappropriate, but high enough to make me almost six feet (also a statement.)
Sensible shoes or statement shoes. Who really cares? No one is going to be looking at my feet. This is just the kind of crap you focus on when you don't want to focus on leaving your kids for two days to go somewhere you don't really want to go because it's so cold there; to do something you don't really want to do because who wants to do these things; to say goodbye to someone you don't want to say goodbye too because you are nowhere near ready; to face a reality that you do not want to face that has been patiently waiting for you some three hundred miles to your north and easily ignored with the holiday bustle.
And so tomorrow Nelson and I head to New England to say goodbye to my very beloved uncle and my heart is broken in so many piece and I'm wearing the fucking statement shoes because they make me feel good when all I really feel is terribly, terribly sad.