Ironically, my orthopaedic shoes from Germany are giving me blisters. Or actually, two raw, exposed circles with a flap of skin hanging off. I am wearing them for the first time today since buying them last year just before winter (sale. 'Nuff said). I love them. They're bright red with a tiny cork wedge.
I like the idea of being in the shoes of a German housewife. I picture her, sturdy and stout, standing in the frameway of a door, wearing a housedress with a calico print and holding a wooden spoon. So far removed from the actual use of these shoes in my life, as they take me through broken-up sidewalks, past graffiti-covered walls, and to my school with the high security alert set for tomorrow.
Fashion gives me license to dream.
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