24 Festive Tasks: Door 11 – Russian Mother’s Day, Task 3:
Perhaps the best-known scene in the James Bond novel and film From Russia With Love is 007 being poisoned by Russian agent Rosa Klebb with a venom-laced blade hidden in her shoe. Tell us: Have you ever owned any particular / outrageous / funny / best-beloved or otherwise special pair of shoes? Post a photo if you should still own them.
These days, literally all I care about is whether “the shoe fits” and is comfortable and can be worn for hours on end without making me feel like I’ve stepped into some sort of medieval torture instrument. That was radically different when I was a kid, however — even when I was a little girl, I loved to stalk around in my mom’s high-heeled shoes, never mind that you could have fit both my feet into one of those shoes back to back … and once I’d hit my teens, my way of asserting that I had left childhood behind began with my feet.
My first obsession was with a pair of white, almost knee-high lace boots — which had actually once belonged to my mom, too, but been discarded by her, the whole lace thing making them ridiculously impractical. But unimportant little details such as this didn’t deter me in the least, and I couldn’t wait for the day when the coveted boots finally (just about) fit me. That happy day finally arrived when I was 12 (I think — or maybe 13) years old. I don’t think I ever wore them to school — if I had, my classmates probably would have had a fit — but they were proudly on display at family reunions and other sorts of festive occasions, probably much to the amusement of the rest of my family.
At Christmas, age 12 or 13, with my grandparents (2d from right and left, respectively),
my grandpa’s sister and her daughter (my mom’s cousin)
And a little later, I landed the footware coup of coups; at least by my definition at the time … a pair of sky-high (we’re talking 6-inch heels), bright red sandals with delicate, slim ankle straps. I was maybe 14 years old when I acquired them (I think I talked an aunt into buying them for me), and I’m still amazed my mom let me wear them at that age at all. But wear them I did — proudly, and wherever high heels were called for … as well as, sometimes, where they weren’t. I owned them for a looong time and hereby present them to you in all their glory — heels first, since it’s the heels, after all, that counted!
(Side note: If you’ve seen my Women Writers Bingo master update post, you’ll now understand that there really could only be one square marker for me in the context of that particular challenge.)