Fashionable heels: I just can't "sandal" it!

The elementary staff at my school is populated by the most beautiful women on the planet. Beautiful...inside and out. They are smart, creative, hospitable, kind, tough, and tenacious. And gorgeous. Effortlessly gorgeous...whether they're sporting athletic wear, re-purposed rags or the latest fashions. It is infuriating and I hate them all. I rarely leave my classroom but, when I do occasionally pop out, like a disgruntled gopher, they are there to love and support me...regardless of my wanting them to or not.  

My wardrobe is worn and routine. I once upset a 4th grader by unknowingly wearing my "Wednesday" sweater on a Tuesday. Unfortunately, a by-product of this little tendency is that, when I DO acquire something new...EVERYBODY notices. I recently made the mistake of asking my friend Michelle (who looks like Jaclyn Smith or Jessica Alba depending on which generation your opinion is operating from) fashion advice. She was WAY too excited to help. "I'm looking at purchasing some fly-away pants," I told her. Her perfect brow puckered. We happened to be in the office (otherwise known as Grand Central Station) at the time. I tried to explain them to her...sort of a capri/split-skirt/skort combo. Right up my alley. Michelle looked mortified. Fortunately, she had her Chromebook and she quickly referenced my garment. "No...this is good!" she exclaimed, alerting the masses of busy-bodies around us to also weigh in. Horrified, I slunk away and then spent the next few weeks fending off inquires about my impending order. Michelle, at one point, threatened to order the pants for me.

I would return to Michelle again when I accidentally ordered a high elastic waist replica of Julia Robert's brown polka-dotted "Pretty Woman dress. The fabric reminded me of a cheap Halloween costume. Not willing to trust my judgment but still hopeful, I again solicitated Michelle's advice. "Hold it up," she said doubtfully. I did. "Well..." she murmured, fighting for something good to say about it. To her horror, I tossed it immediately in the trash. "At least give it to Sarah," Michelle scolded, "...she'll find something fabulous to do with the fabric." Sheepishly, I offered the garment to my friend like it was a roll of off-off-brand paper towels. Within seconds, she'd unearthed a darling brown cinch sweater and a thin belt that magically transformed my failed frock from Garbage Can Now to Red Carpet Wow.

My recent (reluctant) purchase of a pair of brown sandals sent the school into a tail-spin. I walked the corridors like a run-way model all day, stalking, spinning, striking a pose while everyone ooooo-ed and ahhhhh-ed while thanking the shoe gods that I wasn't wearing my black flats for the 200th day in a row. My poor toes didn't transition well, however. My war wounds required sneakers the following day but I was so secretly pleased by the unwarranted attention that I unearthed a pair of black wedge sandals from the 70s to wear for the Elementary Awards Assembly. 

Sitting, unable to breathe from the alligator death roll hold of the shapewear holding my internal organs in place, I secured the slender straps in my dining room and rose majestically (think Bambi on ice) to my feet. Tottering off, I drove to school and once parked, decided to forego the main entrance and, with the tight, disciplined, graceful gait of a geisha, wobbled my way to the back door. Suddenly, SNAP...I found myself free-wheel walking. With my blown tire, I glanced around for a safe place to pull over. Leaning against the brick wall, I noticed that dry-rot had settled into my sandal, causing an irreparable blow-out. Thank goodness my black flats were in my classroom. I surreptitiously lurched my way down the hall and fell through my door. Crawling to my closet, I fumbled along the top shelf, searching for my shoes but instead hit a vase. Shattered glass littered the floor and I decided to call it a day. In the midst of bending over to retrieve the larger shards, my shapewear ceased strangling me and rolled up, inner-tube style, around my belly like floaties for a four-year-old. 

Done.

 I am content with my contrasting role at the school. There is no light without darkness. Good without evil. Fashion, grace, and beauty without...me. With my feet FIRMLY on the ground!