Page 11

Shoes

by Helen Chappell One of the reasons I like going to see one of my doctors, and at my age you have a lot of doctors, is to see the beautiful receptionist who always has the most fabulous shoes. She has a different pair every time, and all of them are stunning. Times being what they are, this slender and tall lady wears those high, high heels that are so fashionable. I’m too old and tired to wear four- and five-inch heels, but like a chaperone at a cotillion, I enjoy seeing young people having a good time. The first thing I say when I walk into the office isn’t “Hello, I’m here for my one o’clock,” it’s “Lemme see the shoes!” And she has them ~ always trendy, always fabulous. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her wear the same pair twice. She says she doesn’t know how many pairs she has, but she collects them with a passion, which I can understand. In my misspent youth, I too was a shoe junkie. Now, this was back in the day when dinosaurs roamed the earth, and Villager outfits were the dress of the day. Some of you will remember those Fair Isle sweaters, madras plaid, circle pins, wrap skirts and matchy-matchy

skirt-and-cardigan combos. And there were three kinds of shoes we all wore: tassel loafers, Docksides and f lats. Your f lats had to be plain, without ornamentation, and either Capezio or Pappagallo. We were, like most kids, conformists to our bones. Like a good high-schooler, I paraded around in my preppy gear, with my Peter Pan and buttondown collars, that circle pin at the ready. Beneath this demure, even innocuous look that presented the image of a good citizen, I also had a secret life as a rebel who often hung around with the wrong people, and I was an expert at forging my mother’s signature on excuse notes. I would cut classes and spend the day in the city, roaming 9

April 2017 ttimes web magazine  

Tidewater Times April 2017

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