Count not thy Chickens

I currently cannot decide if I am incredibly jaded or incredibly wise.

I am caught in thought.

Is it better to be excited until you have a reason NOT to be, or to remain unexcited until you have a reason TO be?

Years of experience have taught me the latter. Does this make me bitter or smart? Cautious or closed off?

I have recently made more of an attempt in my personal and professional life to remain neutral. I have come to embrace the notion that it is not the outcome of an event that steals our inner peace, it is the attachment to certain outcomes that is the culprit.

By attaching ourselves to outcomes that don't occur, we have created a fantasy that is difficult and sometimes painful with which to part.  But had we not attached ourselves to the idea of something before it happened, perhaps then we would not have experienced such letdowns.

Looking back on many past events, it was the attachment to the outcomes that took my peace, not necessarily that the desired outcomes didn't occur.

I, at one point, had the frame of mind that it was silly to only be pleasantly surprised when things did go our way. That cutting off our minds and hearts from the daydream of possibilities was a horrible waste of our souls. Now, a few years later, I look at that former thought as a bit naive and a tad too optimistic. Even though I practice optimism as often as I can, I don't always think it is the course of action.

Because I have seen all too many people have their hearts stomped upon when a relationship didn't take off, when they didn't get that job, and when they didn't get that big part. I've experienced these things firsthand, as well. And just like I have trained myself to go to an audition and give it my all but then walk away and forget about it (because that is the only way us artists can possibly go about our lives and not let the sting of rejection poison our bodies) I feel as though I have trained myself in a similar way to subdue expectation and anticipation in other parts of my life, as well. It is a defense mechanism, of course. So I can protect myself until I have reason to let excitement permeate my soul.

But it is a defense that I don't think is altogether ridiculous.

There's that old saying "Do not count your chickens before they're hatched." That saying has been around for hundreds of years for a reason.

Counte not thy Chickens that vnhatched be,
Waye wordes as winde, till thou finde certaintee.

Thomas Howell, 1570

And I sincerely don't know if this means I have simply grown wiser, or if I used to be eternally hopeful, or if now I am just a jaded old woman.

Perhaps now I just have a more adult way of blending together both sentiments.

Hope and disconnect.

Two totally different frames of mind.

But perhaps they CAN co-exist peacefully?

Because it is not that I have abandoned hope or expectation altogether.

I have just learned to take things day by day. And I don't think that's necessarily wrong.

 

 To see my more optimistic thoughts on this matter from May, 2010 check out
 Great Expectations. 

The Dangerous "What If"

Sometimes we choose one path instead of another. Make strange choices. Do silly things. Take actions that seem right in the moment, but after the fact, lead us down a spiral of self-doubt and regret.

Which way???

*

If I had said this, things would be different.


If I had done that, everything would have worked out.

*





If I hadn't hurt my knee, I would have had a faster race time.

If I hadn't stolen that boyfriend, he never would have broken my heart.

If I'd gotten into UC London, I never would have ended up locked away in Scotland.

If I had taken my cell phone, they would have found us sooner.

If I'd waited longer to sleep with X, we would have dated.

If I hadn't admitted a crush on Y, we could have met up for a beer.

If only I'd made up with her in person before she died...

If I hadn't cheated on my 5th grade test, I never would have lived a life of crime.

If only I had lost ten more pounds...


If only I'd just memorized that entire side....

If only I hadn't bombed that audition....

*
That rogue little "IF" is a dangerous idea to dance with.

Did we do the right thing, say the right thing, make the right decision?

The truth is, we agonize over what we've done and what we've said when the outcome is not what we expected. When we cannot find an answer to explain what has happened, we play the "What If" game. And it is only after our brains have gone through the limitless possibilities that we are able to rest. Our minds are wired to see a better outcome, and because we are all masochistic to a degree, we almost enjoy pressing repeat on scenario after more attractive scenario. We all do this. All of us.

And we only do this when things go wrong. You will rarely see someone who has had a successful outcome mull over his decisions and say, "Why did I do that!"



If Zack asks Kelly out and Kelly says yes, you won't see Zack moping about saying, "I never shoulda let Kelly know I liked her."


Now if Slater asks Kelly out and she says no, it is likely that Slater will be wondering if the outcome would have been different had he done something differently.


But who is to say that the other side of the "IF" wasn't right?


Perhaps it was meant to be.


Perhaps it's not necessarily that Slater should have never asked Kelly out in the first place-- it's not even that he should have asked her out in a less macho way-- it is more likely that Slater's attempts failed not because of something he did, but rather, because it was Zack who was always meant to be with Kelly.

The magical "if" does not exist.

It is something we create to alleviate wonder and prolong obsession.

The "if"game is something we play to distract us from life.

Because the other side of "if" IS life.

And who is to say that these bobbles, these outcomes, these events weren't always meant to happen?



Who is to say that life has not conspired to take us down the path we're currently traveling.

Sure, it is satisfying/torturous to romanticize about the way things could have gone, but the truth is, that's not life. That's daydreaming.


If you look at life from a fatalist point of view, you could have done this or that, but you were really only turning a page in a story that has already been written.


We're just filling in the details however we like.


And,  yes, perhaps we could have said or done things differently, but what if the major points in our lives have already been designed for us and whatever actions we take are the right course of actions because it takes us closer to that next designated point?

What if life throws us this wrench and that wrench at us and puts this roadblock up and knocks us down a few times because those events are crucial in getting us to the next part of our journey?

What if the world is truly knocking us down so that we will find ourselves ready for the good stuff.

So this is what I choose to believe.

And when I find myself playing the "IF" game, I will now say, "Well, then what?"

And then "So what."

The other side of "If" is what's real. It is our fiber, our choices, our mistakes, our paths. And we are meant to be walking these roads.

When things don't go my way, I will no longer wonder "What if..."

I will now say, "What's next."

Because it's coming.

And it's going to be good.

Your Flight Delay Survival Guide

There are certain things that happen to you when your flight gets delayed.

By three hours.

After the initial shock wears off, various other feelings start to emerge. You feel as though you should be allowed to do anything.

You feel somewhat entitled.

Somewhat rebellious.

Somewhat angry.

A little bit…trapped….and yet… a little bit free?

Yes, you have nowhere else to go. You are bound to the airport.

But now…you are free to make your own rules! You’ve earned it. You are both a captive AND an instigator. You, my friend, are running loose in the airport.

So how do you pass the hours?

First things first: Abandon all sense of normal.

You are creating a New Normal.

Welcome! Bienvenidos! Edelweiss! Merci!

Number 1.

Take little fun pack of Jello out of your purse---the one you forgot you stowed in there this morning for lunch---and rip off lid. Don’t even attempt to use lid as a spoon. You are past that. Squeeze plastic container and suck oozing lava-like Jello right from top. Ignore people as they stare. Better yet, stare back and smile. Waive! Enjoy the moment. It is dear.

Number 2.

Spirit Airlines is trying to charge you $40 dollars to carry on ONE little suitcase? Excuse me? Perdon? ARE YOU SERIOUS? When did airlines start stripping you of your last traveling rights? First your water bottle, now your carry-on bag? No. Not today! Go to the self-check in and touch the “0 Bags” carried on button on the screen. Scroll over the “Bags Checked” screen and select “0” on that one too. Print boarding pass. Quickly. Do it.

Number 3.

Get in security line but wait until very big family with sixteen kids gets in front of you. The person checking your ticket will likely be flustered and will now possibly miss words that say “No carry-on” even though you obviously are dragging suitcase behind you. Observe family and sixteen children as they horrify attendant. Nonchalantly stroll up to desk and slide your ticket over to attendant while she is collecting herself… Hold breath, expect to be sent back to the ticketing area…. Get passed through to X-ray!  SCORE! You have made it to Security.

Number 4.

Set off alarms with button on your jeans. Maybe it is your navel jewelry. Put your arms over your head as futuristic laser beam scans your body up and down while, behind wall, little airport men with mustaches comment on how boring your underwear is. Get the A-OK. Put your belt back on. Congratulate yourself all of your liquids made it off conveyor belt even though they were not in 1 qt. baggie.

Number 5.

Now you are in Terminal 3! Find the one person playing ukelele in airport and listen to him strum a happy acoustic version of Outcast’s “Hey-Ya” while foreigners whip out cameras and take precious airport footage. Watch foreigners dance to ukelele music. Dance with foreigners from your corner in mutual spirit. Join foreigners if you are really ballsy. Enjoy the applause. Make decision that Ukelele Guy was really sent from Airport Heaven to entertain stranded travelers.

Number 6.

Buy book. Very raunchy one. Decide against "Shades of Grey" because you are not that desperate. But pick out thriller. Or scandal. Something with murder and sex in it.

Don’t forget the murder.

And the sex.

Number 7.

Go to bar. You deserve a beer. It does not matter it is middle of the week. Drink the beer. Do it. Peer pressure yourself. Make friends. Talk to other people also stranded on their way to Motor City. Or ignore them. Pretend you are a Princess or a Sheik and they are not allowed to speak to you. You can do whatever you like: YOUR FLIGHT HAS BEEN DELAYED.

But do not be a douche. You can be silent and powerful, just keep that decision to yourself.

Number 8.

Buy salad and sit on floor. Yes. Chair next to thousand screaming babies is comfy and all, but you want to sprawl out. Make very big scene as you shake your salad like a maraca and evenly coat your greens with Paul Newman’s Southwestern dressing. People-watch as you eat your salad. Decide Paul Newman must have been really stellar guy.

Number 9.

Go for walk and try to find Australian accent. Check. Keep walking and look for someone in very trashy looking outfit. Check! Look for Southern girl in bookstore telling cashier she is 22 years old and “Shades of Grey” is the first book she has ever wanted to read. Check.

Number 10.

Saunter on and count number of attractive men you hope are sitting next to you on your plane…

Why are there no attractive men in this airport?

Lower standards.

And, wait for it….

Yes! There are many interesting prospects. Consider walking up to one such prospect and striking up conversation:

“So… Oh, hi there! What? You’re stranded too? Ah, you’re going to Detroit. You know, we should have road-tripped together. It is the Motor City, you know! Lots of engines revving. Damn, we could’ve been there by now… you, me, our Ford... Could’ve been one hell of a ride...” 

Smile suggestively and bat eyelashes devilishly.


Realize you are talking to poster. Note you are insane. Continue on your walk.

Number 10.

McDonald’s makes chocolate dipped ice cream cones? YES. Sprint to counter right before they close at 10pm and beg for one. Take dipped ice cream and sit in empty chair. Really enjoy eating your ice cream cone. I mean really enjoy it. Ignore strange man watching you eat your ice cream cone. Shake your foot up and down. There is music playing. Don't worry only you can hear it. It is a good song. Rock out and eat ice cream cone. Finish ice cream, scrunch up your napkin, and 3-point shoot  paper wad into nearest garbage can. High five random French guy walking next to you as you run through halls like you have just won National Conference.

Number 11.

Sit down and actually wait for plane. Strike up conversation about merits of Mizunos vs. Brooks vs. minimalist shoes with couple across from you that runs distance races. Write a 'How-To Guide' while sitting in your comfy chair. Listen to screaming babies. Learn your flight has been delayed by close to 4 hours because THERE IS NO CREW to fly plane. Crew is missing. Where is crew. Decide Spirit’s promise to give everyone a $50 credit “should you choose to fly with Spirit again” is a bunch of bullshit.

Number 12.

Definitely decide to open a can of DETROIT on lady if she gives you hell about your smuggled suitcase. Realize lady is aware it is 12:30 in morning and she already senses you will open a can of whoop-ass on her so she lets you go through anyway.

Number 13.

Board plane.

Number 14.

Listen to flight attendant do stand-up routine no one wants to hear. Silently curse flight attendant.

Number 15.

Buckle seat belt.

Number 16.
Decide making your own rules in airport when your flight is delayed is only way to go.

Number 17.

Congratulate yourself for eating Jello like rock-star, defying Baggage Laws, and making friends with strangers.

Thank you for flying Spirit Air, and fuck you very much.

We hope you enjoyed your flight!
  

******PS: Those fuckers delayed my flight again on the way back to Chicago. AND made me pay for my bag.

The Nipple

*This is so random and more of an exercise than a finished product*


"There's something wrong with my nipple, honey," she said simply.

"No, there's not, darling," he caressed her face. "Why do you keep saying that?"

"Because it's true. There's something wrong with it." She pouted and brought her hands to her sides.

"Darling, you're just not twisting it hard enough. Play around with it a bit."

"Oh, like you're the Master of all Nipple Function. I don't want to twist it anymore! It doesn't work."

"Dear, calm yourself down."

"Don't tell me to calm myself. You're the one who got us into this mess."

"Oh, now you're pointing fingers. Lovely. Last time I buy you anything." He walked away from her.

"The old one was fine. Bastard! But no, we need all the new toys. We always have to try all the new things." She took a breath and tried to collect herself.  "Google it?" she suggested sweetly. "There must be loads of videos on YouTube."

"No, I don't want to look up videos on YouTube, that's embarrassing. We're educated adults."

She looked under a stack of newspapers. "Fine, where's the manual?"

"It comes with a manual?" he asked in awe.

She glared at him venomously.

"Come here, baby...I'm sorry."

She crossed to him and he hugged her. "I'm sorry too," she whispered.

"Okay then."

"Okay."

"So when does the sitter get here?" he asked.

"Ten minutes."

"Grand. And where's the old bottle?"

"In the kitchen."

"Okay, we'll give the sitter the old bottle to use tonight and tomorrow we'll return this fancy dumb one. How does that sound?"

"Deal." She curled up on the couch.

He took a seat next to her and they both sighed in relief.

"We've got ten minutes," he said.

 They sat in silence a few moments.

"Porn?" she suggested.

"Sure," he picked up the remote, "Why not."

Random Thoughts Before Midnight---* or "Cinderella's Gonna Turn into a Pumpkin"

Mouse Noose

1. When Mama said 'there would be days like this,' did she know that sometimes tomorrow would still suck a little bit more than the day before? Where's her song for that? Oh that's right, Mama didn't write a little ditty for that. That is why doctors prescribe Xanax. It is also why cookies exist.

2. If I could be a cookie, I'd be a Nutella cookie. With a big glob of peanut butter in the middle. Or maybe a peanut butter cookie with a big glob of Nutella. They both sound delicious. It makes me want to bake. Except I don't know how to bake. No one ever taught me. And I just had two margaritas. And someone who can't bake who just had two margaritas should never turn on an oven.

3. Do Cobblers like cobbler pie? Or do they find it ironic and un-funny. I feel that if I were a cobbler, I would constantly want to eat pie while fixing shoes. I'd also insist my name was Gus. Of note, my Cobbler's name IS Gus. He's not really MY cobbler because I only went to him once. It's just that I feel important when I say I have a Cobbler. So I am possibly a liar. But damn, can Gus can fix a pair of boots.

4. When people say they wish they were a fly on the wall, are they really thinking about the consequences of being a fly on the wall? Life would be forever altered. What if you could never revert back to human form? What if someone smacked you with a newspaper and you scrunched up and bit the big one? What does it even mean to 'bite the big one'? What does 'the big one' even mean, really. Obviously, it's death. But is death like a big putrid sandwich we're biting into? Is it like a big piece of plywood that cracks your teeth open? All of that for a bit of gossip. That is why gossip is bad and why people who watch TMZ should die.

5. When you see sharp objects or seemingly ordinary objects that are somewhat dangerous-looking, do you automatically think, 'Gosh, you could kill someone with that"......? Because I do. Straws? They're weapons. I know so from Physics class in high school. With just the right velocity, you could stab a hole in someone's neck. Said person would die. Tiny piece of plastic you can tie into a cherry stem knot? Well that's a noose for a mouse. It's true. You could hang a mouse with that. Why is that the first thing I think of when I see a tiny piece of plastic on the ground? It's because I'm sick and twisty. Mouse Noose. What about a broken window pane? Obviously an opportunity to off someone like in the movie 'Ghost' when the bad guy bites the big one.

 And that's what you get for fucking with Patrick Swayze.

Ditto.

Gladys

Gladys stood by the living room window waiting for him to come home. 

Her eyes scanned the front yard and she sighed. The lawn was overgrown again. She never did like it when the grass grew too high. She would have to ask the neighbor’s boy to come over and take care of it. She hoped five dollars would do. 

When would he come home? She listened for the sweet and familiar melody of his whistling, but there was nothing. Just a dull and monotonous silence. 

Gladys looked out into the yard again. Her mind started pulsing, exploring the thick towers of green. She started to dizzy herself and looked away.

No, it was better when the lawn was neat and tidy.  She’d call the boy right now. Maybe she’d give him a few extra dollars if he’d take some boxes to the curb. She picked up the phone and briskly dialed next door.

A young girl picked up the phone, “Hello?” The child’s voice was like song, round and musical and innocent.

“Rachel, honey. It’s Mrs. Patterson. Is your Mom home?”

“Oh, Mrs. Patterson.” There was an awkward silence. Gladys hated silence.

“Well? Is she home?” 

“No, no, she’s not home.” There was no music in the child’s voice any longer.

“Of course. What about your brother?”

“No.”

“Do you know when they’ll be back, Rachel? It’s very simple really. I just need a favor.”

“I don’t understand what you mean, Mrs. Patterson.”

Gladys put her hand to her head; the pulsing beat had started again, more intense than before. “It’s very important I speak to your mother.” 

There was a silence on the other end. “Rachel? Are you still there? Do you understand what I’m saying?”

“... I’m not supposed to talk to you... Mom said we’re not supposed to talk to you.”

Gladys held the receiver close to her ear.

“Why, Rachel?” There was no reply. “Rachel, have you seen Mr. Patterson? He’s late. I’m worried about him,” She bowed her head, tears stinging her eyes. “Rachel… Has he been to your house again?”

“I have to go, Mrs. Patterson. I’m sorry.” Rachel hung up the phone.

Gladys stood motionless for a moment, collecting herself. She looked at her watch. It was late and she was tired of waiting. She picked up a cardboard box of Mr. Patterson’s belongings, opened the front door, and walked to the curb. She dropped the box, letting articles of clothing spill from the sides and land haphazardly onto the driveway. She ripped her necklace from her throat, the one he’d given her for their third anniversary, breaking the strand; and as pearls flew out into the street, she saw from the corner of her eye Mr. Patterson driving towards the house.

Gladys turned on her heels and marched back inside. The pulsing in her head was like a drum now. She walked straight into the kitchen, as if under a spell, and very calmly took out her knives, the very set she’d received as a wedding gift ten years ago. 

She sat at the table and laid the largest knife over the stack of divorce papers she’d refused to sign.

There was no familiar whistle this time, only the sound of the keys at the front door. 

“Dear, I’m in the kitchen,” she called.

His footsteps grew louder as he walked through the living room.

Gladys picked up the knife and smiled.

The Pursuit of Happiness on The Sea of Discontent

 












Josephina was a sailor.

She was a lone sailor on a ship full of old men who'd been sailing their whole lives.

The men spit into the dark angry ocean because they could. 

They killed sharks because they knew how.

And they looked at Josephina like she was shark bait. Their shark bait.

She was scared at first, but she knew the ocean would one day run through her veins like it did for the others.

"I don't go by Josephina on this ship, do you hear me? It's Jo. Do you understand!" she grunted. Her long brown hair was piled high on top of her head, curls spilling loose around her pale, delicate face. Her eyes were wide and gray as she spoke, her voice high and flimsy.

The sailors laughed. Their shark bait had some fight in her. They shook their heads and walked away.

The days were long and arduous and sometimes Jo missed her life on land very much. She heard the voices of her family in her head, begging her not to leave, asking her with desperation not to go. But she had made the decision to live on the sea, where the waves were both beautiful and heartbreaking, where the ship rocked at night in such a way that she felt both sick and in the arms of her mother at the same time. Some nights she tossed and turned violently with the ocean, some nights she slept as if she were a child in a cradle.

"Jo, you're doing it all wrong," the sailors would taunt her. They were ruthless. One particularly rough sailor with a weathered face and a deep voice pushed her close to the rail and threatened her, holding her inches from the wrath of the waves. "You don't belong here, little girl!" He held her down with his textured hands, his palms scarred with thick grooved cuts from battle. She kicked and fought her way back over the edge, breathing rapidly and wildly. "The ocean holds no refuge for you!" he screamed at her as she backed away from him, the fury and sadness in his voice striking her heart. "Don't you see? You will only suffer!" he cried, as she held back a wail of defeat.

Jo ran to her quarters and slammed the door shut. She threw herself onto her worn bed and began to sob. She hadn't cried once since arriving, but the tears now poured from her easily, freely. Perhaps she had been wrong to come. She was alone and tired and broken. It seemed she had been here forever... Yet, how little respect she'd earned from the others. She never should have journeyed so far from home, the risks had been too great. This admission of failure made her cry even harder, and Jo felt the warm streams of water running down her cheeks, hitting her lips like rain, her tongue puckering at the taste.

Her tears were salty like the ocean she desperately wanted to be a part of.

...And then Jo stopped crying.

Not right away, no, her muffled cries were slow to cease, but she eventually found herself in silence. Her shoulders had stopped heaving. Her heart had resumed a normal beat. But her mind....her mind was quickening. The ring of salt from her tears was still on her lips.

Josephina sat up in realization. The ocean was within her.

She was already a part of the mysterious water...the ocean had always been a part of her, had been a part of her long before this day.

The ocean whispered deep within her soul and she'd must learn to listen to the current.

She wiped her eyes and ran back to the deck, determined, her hair wild in the wind.

"I will not concede!" Josephina cried, as she infringed upon the men. The sailors were all in a circle, laughing and joking, having long forgotten about the little girl who ran away.

She broke through the center and cried out again, louder this time, "I will not concede!" The men quieted and looked at her with shocked, curious eyes. Josephina continued. "I have come this far and I will not leave. I will learn your secrets." The sailors were silenced by her spell.

She looked out to the sea, her voice rich with conviction. "I will be unruly, I will scream and cry, and I will succumb to the power of the tide with grace and strength. I will yield to its magnificence and I will learn from the battle. I know why I am here and I will not leave," she growled. Josephina grew more glorious by the second. Her passion seared the ears and eyes of all who beheld her. "The time will come when I will sail these waters not only as your equal, but one day as your leader, and you will all wonder how I learned to wrestle Poseidon... I will listen and I will understand the high sea's wails and whispers...because it is within me: it is who I am...."

The men didn't know what to say. Some looked on in respect, a handful looked on in fear...for they all knew what she said was true. 

She believed it and it would be so.

Josephina crossed the circle and the ring of sailors parted for her as she walked back to her corner of the ship. She placed her hands on the ropes, running her calloused fingers across the dirty ridges.

She closed her eyes and breathed in deeply. For the first time since she'd set foot on the ship, she was certain she belonged here.

She would fight to remain. And she would win.

Waves rocked the vessel, and when she stirred, she saw before her the sailor who'd threatened her. He stared her down for a moment with his piercing eyes. Josephina held his rough gaze.

"...Good girl," he nodded. "Honor your words, Jo. And do what you say."

She took him in and nodded back.

The sailor gave her one last look and turned the other way, smiling when he was certain she would not see.

Josephina sat serenely for a moment, letting the wind embrace her.

And then she got to her feet.

There was work to be done.

Single and Bootless

Finding a good man is like trying to find a good pair of boots.

You are faced with a sea of men every day, just like you are faced with a sea of shoes every time you walk through the aisles of a DSW. There are shoes everywhere. Beautiful shoes, sexy shoes, practical shoes, ugly shoes, unconventional shoes. It can be dizzying and confusing and glorious.

But all of a sudden, you zero in on one pair... EUREKA! You've found them! None of the other shoes matter anymore, hell, you don't even give them a second glance. No, you have found the one pair that you've been dying to slip your feet into since the day you were born. And when you try that pair on you feel gorgeous and intoxicating. "Hello, you sexy and exciting boot," you coo to your new love, "We shall never part."

But Goddamnit.

You know they hurt a little. Let's be fair, you know it will take awhile for the boot to mold to your foot. But you are so smitten that you wear them out of the store! And then...you dance. Goodness gracious, do you dance in those shoes!

"... I can break them in!" you think to yourself, boldly.



But you know.

Hell, you had an inkling the second you stepped out the door.

The truth is, these shoes REALLY hurt.

Sure, it will be a great couple of hours, a few sweet precious moments that you will revel in, but the fact remains that these shoes don't fit quite right, they kill your arches, and they burn your toes. They will honestly leave you in so much pain that you will soon be in tears, tearing the shoes off your feet by the end of the night, walking home barefoot because you cannot even fathom the ridiculous notion of wearing them a minute longer.

Those shoes, though sexy and exciting and flashy, have ruined your night.

And when you made that purchase, tell me there wasn't a part of you that secretly wondered if those shoes would eventually make you miserable.

So what's a girl to do?

Ahh, yes! What about the practical shoe?

Surely there must be a practical shoe that won't make you cry!

And there are. There are countless practical shoes. They're everywhere.

You know this pair will be dependable. You know it will be comfortable. And what girl doesn't want a dependable comfortable shoe that won't fail her and won't make her cry?







But do you run home to your practical shoe, ready to rip its laces off? Do you look at your practical shoe and think, "Oh baby, let me tie you up."

No. It is dependable, but sexy it is not.








The sexy shoe isn't practical enough, and the practical shoe isn't sexy enough. You know you won't be excited about a plain pair with no personality. And perhaps you could grow to love this dependable comfy shoe, but you can't help but want something more than "just comfortable."

So you hold off on purchasing any shoe. You tried them on and took them for a spin through the aisles, but neither pair is what you really want. You don't want to waste anymore time on something you know isn't what you're looking for.

Much like Prince Charming looking for his Cinderella, you are looking for your shoe-- but not a piece of shit glass shoe with a spiked heel, because you know dear old Cindy's feet were bleeding all the time.

You're looking for a refreshing hybrid of comfort and uniqueness. Because your feet are shaped funnily and not any pair will do. One day you'll find your sole-mate, but until then, you're single and bootless. Those kids in China better get to work.