Usually, I live in a happy place. I daydream about Him, feed the ducks, drink wine, and sometimes, I find $20 in my pocket.
It's not that I don't have worries. I worry that my hair will be flat. I worry about what I will blog about tomorrow. I worry that my thong will stick out of the back of my jeans and worse, that no one will notice. Also, I worry about the U. S. dependence on foreign oil and stuff.
I went shopping yesterday. Shoe shopping usually makes me forget all about the weight of the world. The beauty of shoe shopping is that I am built for it. The display shoe is always a size six or 6.5. I whip off my shoe and slip my foot into the display shoe and all is right in the Universe again.
But, it didn't work out that way.
I tried on every shoe. Nothing looked right. I couldn't even hear them calling my name. Silence. Not a single shoe spoke up. I reached for my phone, "Mom," I said, choking back my tears. "I can't find any shoes that I like."
There was a gasp and then a slow, calculated breath. "Oh Honey, you're depressed."
I started to cry right there in the store. The saleslady handed me a stocking and a bronze ballet slipper. I waved her away and blew my nose in the stocking.
Mom told me to get myself to the nearest discount shoe warehouse. She always knows how to comfort me. On the way, I drove past a store called Pumps & More. The sign was like a beacon. I pulled into the parking lot wondering how it's possible that I live six miles from Pumps & More and had never noticed it.
I touched up my mascara and got ready to shop.
I never like to look like I don't know what's going on. In an effort to prove that I was In The Know, I made a hasty purchase. I now own a breast pump. I had the option to rent one, but I recoiled from the mere thought of curdled human cheese curds in the chamber.
It's really uncomfortable, but it makes my calves look great.