News

Putting your best foot forward can be a pain

Cheap shoes and age help negate the adage that if you're good to your feet they'll be good to you.

By Alice Graves, Special to the Times
Published October 30, 2007

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When my cat peed in my euro-style comfort sandals, I lost the best pair of shoes I owned. They were beige, so they matched everything. And my feet loved them.

Once upon a time, my feet tolerated all kinds of abuse. I spent my 14th summer wearing white beaded moccasins without soles. All that lay between my feet and the sidewalk was a thin layer of vinyl. I walked in them until the hole under my big toe grew too large to ignore.

When you think about it, feet have an incredible task to perform. They hold everything up - the thighs, the hips, the belly. So why shouldn't they scream out for attention now and then?

Back when I could wear anything on my feet. we could afford only two pair of shoes at a time: one for school and one for play. As soon as I got home from school, I took off my school shoes and put them away. At night I polished them. I got new shoes in fall and spring.

In high school, I had my babysitting money, so I usually sprang for a pair of sandals. I always got something my mother would never buy me, like the soleless moccasins, or Greek-style sandals with the straps that criss-crossed up my legs and tied at the knees - the cheapest shoes in the store.

But I could never afford those white go-go boots when I was in eighth grade. That was the year of Carnaby Street, Twiggy and the mods. England swung, but I didn't.

My mother would not buy me go-go boots because they were not practical. They were white, which shows dirt. And they were not waterproof, like galoshes, those detestable rubber boots you zip on over shoes.

As a defense mechanism, I convinced myself that the girls in the white go-go boots were conformists, and I strove to be a nonconformist.

For years I wore the cheapest, cutest, coolest shoes I could find. In high school there were water buffalo sandals. All of us nonconformists were wearing them. In college I wore boys' work boots from Caldor in winter and plastic jelly shoes in summer.

Now I find myself on an endless quest for the perfect pair of shoes: shoes that look attractive and cushion my feet, so I feel like I'm walking on something soft and fluffy, not a hard floor. I feel guilty because I have shoes that I can't wear anymore. They are either too high or thin-soled for me. Like the princess and the pea, if I can feel the sidewalk, there's instant pain.

I need a full inch of sturdy but flexible sole between my foot and the sidewalk, with ample support in all the right places. And no narrow or high heels. I have few choices.

My husband and I have a drawer full of foot paraphernalia-Dr. Scholl is our savior. We have cushions for callouses, heel cradles, full foot liners both the gel and foam varieties, jelly things for the balls of our feet, arch supports, and those cushiony things you stick to the back of your shoe so your foot doesn't keep sliding out. He wears orthotics from the podiatrist.

One day my husband came home from the store with a bag full of foot goodies. It felt just like Christmas.

When I watched Helen Mirren in The Queen, I noticed those comfy, sensible shoes she wore. For some reason Mirren didn't wear them to get her Academy Award.

I'm glad I don't have to attend the Academy Awards. I'd probably wear a cheap but fabulous gown, jewels borrowed from Harry Winston (or Target), and on my feet I'd wear color-coordinated plastic clogs. I would dance all night, while Helen Mirren would have to sit it out in her sexy stiletto heels.

As for my cat, lately she stands in front of the closet door (home of the shoes) and when I refuse to open it, she looks puzzled. I notice her feet - wide, furry, and magnificently padded. Perfect.

St. Petersburg resident Alice Graves holds an MFA in creative writing. Readers may contact her ataliceggraves@yahoo.com.

 

[Last modified October 29, 2007, 14:59:13]