Minor, I Repeat, Minor Musings

Have had another exhausting weekend and long day of travel. What is it about airports and planes that is so draining? I will try to post more extensively tomorrow, but in the meantime:

Roberta Flack was on my flight from ATL today. There was no first class section; it was a Song flight. She asked one of the crew members if she would get a refund/credit on her ticket, because she was booked in first originally. Delta switched aircraft at the last possible minute, in Atlanta, in the middle of the afternoon, causing a huge glut in boarding. She wore sunglasses the entire time. Really dark ones. Only knew it was her because her road manager was sitting next to me and I caught snippets of his convo with someone across the aisle from me. I care VERY little about celebrities anymore after having washed their dirty laundry at a certain, unmentionable magazine I may have worked at, but I do think Killing Me Softly is a classic. The sunglasses thing—it's a celebrity form of nonverbal communication that screams, "Look at me! I am SOMEBODY!" Or maybe she was just hungover. Whatever.

I lost yet another piece of jewelry. This is becoming a disturbing pattern over the past couple of months. I try not to sweat the small stuff, but this was another very lovely, sentimental piece that belonged to my grandmother. I'm going to try to track it down, but given that the party was 500+ people in another state, I think that someone probably has an antique diamond and gold brooch they found on the ground somewhere last night. Alcohol.

Expensive shoes are, contrary to popular opinion, not better for your feet, more comfortable or more ergonomic than less expensive ones. I feel that I have scientific proof of this on a couple of different fronts. First, for about a year, I was running and working out in these totally ghetto, old-school looking sneaks I picked up at Woodbury Commons for like $20. My BFF made fun of me in these sneaks, as she said they were "cheerleading" shoes. I don't know if this is true, but I know that I never had one single foot problem or blister from these cheapo sneaks. Last month I went to the running store my parents frequent in their hometown, and one of the dudes there "fitted" me for new sneaks. Nice, expensive ones. Since buying them, I not only have nasty blisters galore, but my ankle is freaking killing me. I suppose I should just go pick up another $20 pair and call it a day.

Second, while at this great shoe repair place last week that Bergdorf's suggested, the saleswoman began talking my ear off when I requested slingback stickies. (Men: see picture. Repeat after me: Slingbacks Drop it in your next convo with your wife/girlfriend/mistress/paid entertainment. She'll be duly impressed.)





Slingbacks look hot, and they are nice in theory; aesthetically pleasing. The problem is, the slingbacks NEVER, EVER, EVER, EVER stay in place, so they sell these sticky pads to put on the back of them. There is seriously a whole retail niche that has been filled by the makers of these ridiculous sticky pads. And we women, freaks that we are, buy them and stick them in the back of our stupid, overpriced shoes. Slaves to fashion. I've stopped buying slingbacks for this precise reason, but the ones I have I like, so I keep repairing them. This one pair of Manolos, has broken TWICE. First the slingback snapped in half, then recently another piece of the top snapped. I've worn the fuckers like three times total. $400+ shoes, should not break so easily, in my opinion. So I was at the shoe repair place, buying the damn sticky pads yet again, when the saleswoman revealed a trade secret. The sticky pads, are, as any woman who has used them knows, but probably won't admit, a complete gimmick that we continue to buy into—apparently, due to the physical positioning of the slingback (low on ankle), it is actually impossible for it to stay in place.

"Manolo, Choo, they both do slingbacks too low. We must fix. So what happens? We take off slingback and actually reposition them for women. That is only solution," the shoe repair woman said conspiratorially.

My eyes widened. WTF? How the hell did I not know this, with all my experience? I should have my shopping license revoked. Seriously though, we pay sick, sick amounts for these freaking shoes and then we are supposed to pay more money, probably another $30, $40 to fix them, before they even break? I am SO done with slingbacks.

I am sharing this story for a couple of reasons. First, because I know that some of my friends/readers may not know this and will actually find the information useful. Second, it fits in with my running theme here of "the grass is not always greener." We Manolo and Choo-wearers are just as uncomfortable as you are in your less pricey pairs. So the next time you put on your Nine Wests or Steve Maddens or whatever, and wish you could afford a pair of those shoes you saw in Vogue or heard about on Sex and the City just remember, Manolo sucks. And Choo can kiss my ass. They are both clearly sadists.

And guys, next time you are on a date or in a bar or wherever, look at the women's feet. If she dares to wear a slingback, see if you can spot the telltale adhesive strip poking out of the back. You'll get a good chuckle out of it. And if there is no adhesive sticker thingy, thus it follows that: They are not Manolos or Choos, or, disturbingly, the gal has shelled out upwards of $400 for the shoes, AND, another $40 or so to have the backs repositioned. We are such suckers. I'm going to stop writing now, before I know it the Manolo Mafia is going to put a hit out on me. Must go to bed. My fucking feet are really killing me.