you give me fever

It is so totally spring. There is no more snow anywhere, even on the driveway behind my house where piles of snow built up, melted a little, froze, built up some more, melted a little, froze more solid, until it was impenetrable and dangerous and bodies could have been hidden there to allow murderers plenty of time to escape under cover of inclement weather, since they would not be discovered until spring. Which is now. It’s sunny! It’s bright. It’s sunny and bright, and on Sunday I wore a skirt with no tights, and a short-sleeved blouse with only a sweater on top, and I did not fall down and pass away from hypothermia or shake myself apart with the wretched die-of-exposure shivers. Spring! I like spring!

But I had a problem figuring out what shoes I was supposed to wear. It’s spring! I’m allowed to wear things that are not giant boots that go all the way up to my knees (though I’d prefer that they went up to my neck) and wearing those shoes will not make me regret them or, as above, die of exposure. It’s been so long since I’ve lived in a place where I could wear just about any footwear I chose, 9 to 11 months out of the year. And the other one to three months of the year I could just wrap my fancy shoes in plastic bags and go on happily with my day as if weather practically didn’t exist or something.



I have a lot of shoes. As it turned out, and as I discovered to much sorrow, 95
percent of those shoes involved wedges, or high heels, or open toes,
open backs, open sides: exposure, generally, of my feet. Have I talked
already about dying of exposure? Oh, good. So most of my shoe wardrobe
has languished in the closet for the past three months. Those very snow boots that I
finally bought, way back when? Best pre-move purchase I made. I wore them more or less every
day. They kept me happy and warm and reasonably close to stylin’.

Now that the weather is cooperating again, I can get back to being
totally stylin’. And after an enforced period of flat, practically
orthopedic enclosed shoes, I can wear heels again. I’m totally set!
Bring on the cuteness! Except everything I wear looks weird with little
flats. And E keeps making fun of them. They’re old lady shoes, he keeps
saying, of my gorgeous silver flats, my awesome bronze heels, my way
too cool for school teal suede peep toes. They are not, I say, and then
I beat him to death with his own Birkenstocks. Okay, he doesn’t
actually wear Birkenstocks. That was mean. But also he is mean to me
and it is painful in my heart.

What I really need to do is go shoe shopping. Take that pile of money
I have been saving for taxes, that tempting, sexy, relatively enormous
pile, and go get me some so-good shoes in some so-good colors.
It is the second best way I know to celebrate spring, right behind
doing it like bunnies and sitting out in the sunshine and soaking it
in. Soon I will find a way to combine all these things by doing it like
a bunny in the sunshine while wearing the cutest shoes in the world,
and when I do, I don’t think I can ever be unhappy ever again. I love
spring. And shoes. And spring shoes. And doing it a lot, like a bunny,
in the spring. I think I might have some kind of fever or something.

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