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.

connie, nice take.

erika, I'm frellin' dying over here. "My Lover, My Crime Scne"?!?!

Oh, thanks, bwah.

Slightly darker uses for shoes.

Court Date

"Read the charges."

She ought to feel frightened; all her instincts are saying freeze, like a rabbit who sees the hawk's shadow over the long grass.

"...murder in the second degree..."

No luck with the fear. Maybe remorse? Something bubbles up in her, very close to genuine laughter. After eight years of abuse, remorse? Not likely.

"...did intentionally cause the death of..."

He had it coming. She didn't care - she'd done right.

"...four-inch Manolo Blahnik stiletto heel..."

"Excuse me." Her lawyer had told her to keep quiet. She ignores his frantic elbow-jogging. "It was a Jimmy Choo I used."

Eee hee hee hee. I couldn't tell you the difference between a Blahnik and a Choo if you had a gun to my head. But that was amusing.

I just liked her flat "I did it, yeah, whatever, the evil fuck had it coming, could you at least get the details right?"

Reminds me, P-C, curling up with your thing tomorrow morning, hopefully.

Bwah! to deb.

And I loved ita's fairy tale reference.

Let's see what I can do with this one....

Remember the girl who got scooped up by a press gang in 1799 or so in the key scene drabble from a few weeks ago? Well, she's back. I can't wait to finish my current novel so I can tell her story....

She can still wear her old dresses, but not the shoes. Five years in men’s boots or scrambling barefoot in the rigging have left her feet too wide and coarse for the silken dancing slippers and dainty kid half-boots her girl-self wore in that distant former life. The maid is dismayed, but Elizabeth shrugs. It’s not as if she could possibly pick up a splinter or even a speck of dirt going barefoot in a house as immaculate as Hardingstone Place. But the maid is unyielding. And so Lady Elizabeth Gordon, late master’s mate of HMS Hermione, goes down to breakfast with her husband and her brother clad in a dress half a decade out of date and the second housemaid’s best shoes.

Oh, hell, Susan. That's perfect period, that is.