Monday, 31 January 2005 | Maybe

When I was at home for Christmas, my mom said it was okay with her if I wore a dress and combat boots to the service at my parents' church. She didn't love the idea, but I hadn't brought much else to choose from, partly because I don't own any delicately shaped shoes. (The church service was canceled due to snow, which was probably for the best.)

I've tried to buy dress shoes before, but I'm terrible at it, mainly because I don't like how they make me look like I have the hind legs of a pony. I don't have a problem with the height, and I'm able to walk in heels; I think what bothers me is simply the lack of meat on the shoes. However, I only seem to have that problem when the shoes are on my feet; they decorate other people's feet unoffensively, like colorful stilts.

Today I tried again, in preparation for a wedding I'm attending in February. My friend Sarah, who barely owns shoes that don't look like weapons, took me to a shop and led me directly to the back corner, where the discounted shoes are exiled. I tried on three pair, shrugging and wincing in confusion, before settling on a pair that seemed okay.

Now I have them out of the box, and I keep glancing over at them, continuing to size them up to determine whether we're right for each other, whether we really are going to have a go at this relationship. I imagine that if I put them in the cabinet with all my other shoes, by morning I'd discover the freshman shoes bruised and ripped, with their heels savagely torn off. I'll keep them out tonight, to give them a chance.