Bev, I thought for a minute you were going entirely somewhere else with the shoe reference in that one: I suck at cards (no gambling gene at all), but isn't the thing the croupier in a casino uses called a shoe?

erika! Kay and her shoes?

The cards are indeed in a shoe.

Yeah, I did that to Kay Howard a number of times.

Can anybody play? 100 words, right? Forthwith:

Mrs. McNaughton’s erstwhile second-best heels announce their arrival home.

The children are abed, eyes closed, having heard the car and zipped their secret way up the stairs. Under the blankets, they are still wearing drinking glasses on their hands.

Lena takes a last swipe at the jelly fingerprints on the countertop and tries to wash her hands. "They were really a bunch of characters tonight," she wheezes. Mr. McNaughton's bowtie flaps as he swallows.

Mrs. McNaughton has not yet gone into the living room, where her formerly best shoes lie behind the television, full of peanut butter and sock lint.

Oh, Nutty, LOVELY! Peanut butter and sock lint, indeed. Family life.

These can't ever scuff or wear thin, the way all her others are before she even gets them. They sparkle and make her happy, even when they're hidden from her view beneath full skirts. Their click against the floor is solid, not at all brittle like she'd worried.

He doesn't step on her toes once, nor she on his, to her surprise. Instead, they whirl around the dance floor, beaming at each other and the newness of it all.

As she turns she catches sight of the clock for the first time tonight.

Dear God, she thinks, stiffening.

She runs.

BWAH!

Fairy tale!

I like it!

She considers the racks of shoes and wonders what she's missing. Shoes. Things that go on the feet. That let you walk on rocks and hot sidewalks and slippery floors without harm. Leather, cloth, vinyl, plastic. Occasionally pretty, sometimes even adorable, but, essentially, just shoes.

There's a shoe on the "Buy me, I'm fashionable!" table. The heel is stupidly high, the toe is too narrow, and how many places could you really wear something like this? Her criteria: Does it fit? Will it last? Does it match most everything? Deal.

Her preferred shoe: Nikes bought on close-out.

She suspects she was supposed to be a guy.

OK, so Kay insisted on showing up...I've missed writing her, huh?

Unbelievable. I shaved for this guy and he doesn’t even bother to show up.Not only that, but I’m wearing cologne, and actual make-up(I wondered where I put my lipstick, but I finally found it behind the dresser. My keen detective instincts kicked in, hmm? And I always feel so *stupid* making those make-up faces, you know the ones, like you’re gonna make out with yourself in the mirror or something.

And I can barely walk. I told Carrie the boots that I usually wear would be just fine, but she told me I should try to look sexy. For a *change*, I think she said, but I tuned her out cause we’re too old to wrestle now. Even though I could still take her and she knows it. So I’ve got on her white fuck-me pumps that are pinching the hell out of my toes.

Do I look sexy? Who can tell? Is paralysis sexy? Well, it’ll make me nice and easy to catch, that’s for sure. Damn. If I ever find the guy who designed these things, fuck PC and Miranda, I’ll find him and blow his Italian head off, cause this has to be torture or something doesn’t it? I think about taking them off under the table, but Carrie will find out somehow and look at me like I drank out of the toilet bowl or something, and I just finally got her out of the habit of sending me style tips and stupid books. “Smart Women, Foolish Choices” She doesn’t know the half of it.(Maybe there’s one I can actually use. “My Lover, My Crime Scene”, huh? Nah.) Or maybe that Montel guy will have a show “Don’t Hate Me For My Perfect Clearance Rate!” I kinda think I’m on my own...if the circulation ever comes back in my toes.