I have a surprising attachment to my some of my shoes. Surprising because the attachment isn’t for the shoes I expected. I hate referring to my shoes as a collection, so I’ll say instead that I have a large selection of shoe offerings. Among them are of course a few favourites, and a few work horses, my attachment to those obvious. There have been a few cheap-o’s that I’ve bought and departed with easily when they either didn’t work or lost their appeal, and there are a few expensive pairs that I’d have no problem consigning if I felt I was no longer interested in them. The bizarre trouble spot is with the expensive designer shoes that I bought at an amazing price. I sorted through my shoes the other day and identified 5 pairs that either don’t fit the way I want or just don’t work for my style. The shoes are gorgeous and I liked them enough to buy them, thinking that ‘at that price it’s worth a try’ but now that they aren’t working out I can’t stand the idea of getting rid of them. With the price I picked them up for, I’ll actually make money if I consign them, but I don’t want to! I’ll never wear these shoes; they’re taking up precious real estate in my shoe storage, but I don’t want to part with them.

It’s the deal. I snagged them at such great prices that I can’t stand the idea of sending them on their way. I keep trying to figure out a way to make them work. They’re gorgeous shoes, so what if they don’t quite work with my wardrobe? They don’t fit? Add heel pads! Errrrrgh!!!

There’s probably a technical psychology word to describe this, but I’m determined to get over it before it gets to the point where I’m being diagnosed.

“‘You won’t even remember it in the morning?!’ Seriously? You thought that would work? This is why I never come out with you!”

This past weekend, my sister and I went with my mom (64) and her friends to a seniors’ singles dance. They go every week, sometimes twice. My parents are still married, but her friends are all sixties singles. My sister is making a documentary about them and attended the previous week’s event with them, so she knew what to expect and was over the surprise. I on the other hand, was pretty dumbfounded.

First of all, I was shocked at how dolled up everyone was. I don’t know what I expected or why. I’ve seen my mom and other women her age out and about and they dress well. But I was still surprised to see older gals in (age appropriate) club wear. These were ladies on the prowl.

Second, I was baffled at how great some of the women’s bodies looked. There were a few younger women there, in their twenties to thirties, and from the back you couldn’t tell who was who. Yes, this may say something about the youngin’s in attendance, but it speaks mainly to the older gals. They were in great shape!

Third, and most shocking, if the lights were slightly dimmer – or if I had more alcohol – I would have had no idea that the room was filled with seniors. I could have easily believed that I had wandered into any random club. How awesome. I don’t know where my misconceptions about older people came from, but they’ve been adjusted to reflect reality.

Also of interest:

• Most of the music was current dance stuff that I totally didn’t know
• Almost all the other women knew all the words to just about every song
• I didn’t notice even one man offer to buy a woman a drink
• (I think they’ve learned that it really doesn’t get you anywhere)
• (And I imagine that they are on a fixed income)
• Men asked women to dance extremely easily, no awkwardness, no aggressiveness, and if they were turned down, they just smiled and asked the next women
• It doesn’t matter how old the crowd is, there will always be a couple on the dance floor seriously making out