A Downside To True Love

I love shoes. I love them. I've had a lot of catching up to do with the other shoe-obsessed girls as I fell in love a little later in life. I only had about 5 pairs of shoes until I was 25, then something snapped. Gradually my black Doc boots, blue Converse and Birkenstocks from college weren't good enough. My shoes got fancier and sassier and people started to notice. I'm not really that big on attention, but having someone compliment your taste is nice...

...except when you are easily recognized by only your shoes when anonymity is important. We should all be able to check our shoes at the bathroom door and don some sort of uniform slipper. Right ladies?



I think about writing every day.  Those thoughts don't always bring me all the way here.  Those little moments each day where you catch yourself and think, "I want to remember this." are too often buried under the pieces of life that keep on happening.  I'm lucky that I can, if even only sometimes, pause to appreciate the funny, the absurd and the lovely in my life.  To know that I've known those moments often has to be enough.

It is certainly sad that every exchange can't possibly have its own well crafted story or polished memory.  Some stay in your head so long that you can't ignore the significance and they push their way into print.  Like this one:

I have been teased, ribbed and mocked by my husband for my most recent obsession - watching every episode of Beverly Hills 90210 while they are in re-runs on the SOAP network.  I didn't watch the show when it originally aired and thought it would be a fun little diversion to turn to on the DVR when the mood struck.  Unfortunately, I forget myself.  I just can't let the episodes stack up on the DVR list.  I have to get rid of them.  It's a little pet peeve I have.  If you recorded it - watch it.  Delete it.  Let's move on.  I can't stand the clutter.  

So this little diversion has become somewhat of an unpleasant obligation, with two shows airing daily.  I wanted to watch the show, now I HAVE to watch the show - partly to clear the clutter and partly to see what happens to these people.  I will never reveal which part carries the most weight.  Foolishly, I thought I was the only person in this house I was affecting.  I can subject the dog to bad acting, high waisted jeans and uncomfortable 'setting the mood' electric guitar solos.  The dog can take it, but I didn't think it could ever hurt my husband.  

That is, until the day he woke up from a nap on the couch and groggily told me that he had just been dreaming about playing golf with Dylan McKay.  

I'm sorry Sparky.  It'll all be over soon.   
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