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Off in a world of daydreams, I swung lazily in the hammock, slowly becoming aware of slurping, chewing sounds at my feet. By the time I fully awoke, the sandals that I had kicked off had become the dog's lunch. (Courtesy Steve Henderson Fine Art)
For the longest time, I’ve wanted to write about my $129 leather sandals. Now that I’m shimmying through Macy’s, picking up accessories with my recently French manicured, slim fingers, and carelessly tossing the goods into my shopping basket, perhaps I should mention that I bought those sandals on sale for $14.95.
I might also add that Ruby the Dog That’s Smaller Than a Rat exhibits a literal taste for expensive footwear. And thanks to her sharp teeth, has reduced my $14.95 find-of-the-century to masticated pulp.
Honestly, considering that we live in a rural area surrounded by bovines, couldn’t she have chewed on leather before it was manufactured into an Italian masterpiece that actually fits comfortably on my flat, fat, unstructured Polish feet?
I was dozing in a hammock, Ruby below me making those soft slurping noises associated with canines and 10-month-old babies with colds, when I thought … “What is she doing?” By that time, it was more of an issue of what she’d done. “Duct tape won’t fix it?” I asked the Norwegian Artist (my husband) and he gave me one of those looks—you know, the Desi/Lucy ones.
So I’ve got this expensive chew toy that used to be the one and only fashionable pair of footwear in my closet and this totally unrepentant dog that doesn’t belong to me but to College Girl, who never lives anywhere that allows pets.
The tombs of Pamplona, Colombia are a little far away, but any cemetery will do as alternative living arrangements for the Rat Dog, who chewed through my footwear and my patience. (Courtesy Steve Henderson Fine Art)
The intriguing thing about the sandals is that they remind me of bikinis—expensive and minimalist leaving the purchaser wondering just what justifies the price. Yeah, I know, the sandals were cute, kicky, and unusually comfortable. But the Norwegian Artist’s wallet has twice as much leather.
Because my daily life is intertwined with animals and dusty wheat fields, I generally forego expensive clothing. Working at home there’s no one around to be impressed by the stiletto heels (which sink into the Earth), sassy skirts (not with my knees), or tailored jackets. Do you know what happens to wool when you decide to take a break from the keyboard and clean the toilet with bleach and the bleach splatters?
So the sandals were an especially exciting accessory to my usual wardrobe of jeans and knit top, catapulting my image from 21st century June Cleaver to Paris Hilton, in her 40s, a few pounds heavier, and on a budget. I felt blonde, daring, and expensive.
Now I just feel irritated, bereft of the one item of luxuriant frippery I have ever owned, and stuck with the Ratdog and too many pairs of jeans. I suppose I could wallow in this, but life’s too short.
Besides, I’ve got these new prescription sunglasses, because with my eyesight you don’t want me driving with a pair I pick up off the rack.They’re cute, they’re flirty, they’re Brittany Spears in 20 years (Paris Hilton didn’t fit the rhyme), and when they’re not on my face they’re securely nestled in a locking case so that you-know-what can’t pretend they’re whatever disgusting thing she was thinking of when she eviscerated my sandals.
Carolyn Henderson is a freelance author and writer of the blog Middle Aged Plague (www.MiddleAgedPlague.areavoices.com). In addition to looking at modern life’s oddities and ends, Carolyn is the manager of Steve Henderson Fine Art (www.SteveHendersonFineArt.com), which features the paintings of her husband, the Norwegian Artist.
