Day 31: Shoes and Saviors

This outfit makes me wish I lived in a place where it was always summer. I could live in this ensemble. I would like to own every single piece here, please, oh clothing gods. I mean, what's not to love? It's all so carefree and cool, like a glass of chilled, white wine in June. We'll call it, "Livin' the (Effortlessly Chic) Dream."

"I've been dating since I was fifteen. I'm exhausted. Where is he?" Charlotte

"I lost my Choo." Carrie, after losing her shoe running to catch the last ferry from Staten Island

This is a very special episode, because it contains my favorite SATC quote, the first one listed above. The second quote might just be my second favorite, and I will explain why in due time. The question Carrie poses this round is, "Do all women want to be rescued?"

But first, a small review of a local boutique. If I visit a great place, I'll write a little something about it here. A friend told me about True Love, a vegan shoe store, last week and mentioned we should meet there for Denver's monthly, "First Friday" festivities. I was hesitant about the vegan thing but not hesitant enough to miss out on shoe shopping, fake leather or not. As I pulled up, magically finding parking on Broadway during rush hour, I felt a rush of excitement as I looked into the shop. About 20 fashionable, young women were trying on shoes and drinking pink champagne. It was going to be a fabulous time. I went in, and while I looked for my friend, one question kept repeating itself in my mind: "How much are those peep-toes in the window?"

An hour and a stack of shoeboxes later, I had my heels--a pair of deep red platforms my friend had suggested I try on. They were amazing. And they were $30. If only I could have stopped there, but I browsed the rest of the store, passing up cute boots for 70% off and a bargain rack of variously-sized flats and heels, but grabbing ribbed, brown legwarmers (remember, I'm addicted); a thick, elastic "leather" belt with tiny gold skulls on it; and a pair of brown aviator glasses for $10. I couldn't resist. By the time I got to the register and met Sarah, the owner, there were about 15 more women in the store and not a single man. She said it had been a good night so far. As for me, $79 down, I still felt up. I don't know if it was the tinted champagne, the good company of like-minded women, or my rockin shoes, but I left feeling a little less hard on myself for my shoe weakness and a little happier about life. It's funny what shoes can do...

...and onto SATC. It all starts at a firefighters benefit, where the beefy firemen are stripping for a room full of single women and judges. The judges are deciding who will make it into this year's calendar. The hotness factor of the men seems uncanny, and the girls decide it's because they represent the ideal rescuers, strong, fearless males who can save any damsel in distress. Samantha hits on one of the guys, later creating her fantasy, four-alarm sex-a-thon. Charlotte gets hammered and decides this year will be the year she marries. At a bar, she meets a charming fellow, who punches out a guy who won't leave her alone. Mesmerized, she asks him out, but she soon learns he just has a thing for fighting. Miranda gets eye surgery to correct her vision. She finds an unexpected "knight" in Steve, who picks her up from the hospital and never leaves her side. Meanwhile, Carrie attracts the attention of a local politician. Still reeling from Big, she initially turns down the politician's advances. However, when he rescues her from having to walk home in her new Jimmy Choos, she decides to give him a chance.

I love this episode, because it relates so much to how I met Hank. I know I've told this story before, and I won't go through it all again. But there's a darker side I don't think I've mentioned...

Almost right after Hank and I met, the bars were closing. He offered to walk me to my car, which I thought was across the highest bridge in town. I had drunk way too much that night and was wearing flimsy (but cute) platform shoes from Target. Since I had trouble walking in them sober, it's no wonder that along the way, I got fed up with stumbling and decided to go barefoot and carry the shoes. Somewhere between bar and bridge, I lost one.

Now, I loved those shoes, and I said so to Hank. Immediately, he stopped and told me to wait right there while he went to find the missing mate. He disappeared, and I found myself in the middle of the bridge. Now, reader, not only do I have a mild fear of heights, I have depressive tendencies (if you hadn't realized already) that tend to grow exponentially when I drink heavily. I'm the crier--that girl who is fine one minute and getting tears in her jello shot the next, though nothing obvious about the situation has changed.

So, there I am, on a really high bridge, drunk, shoeless, cars full of college kids whizzing by and honking, and I'm grasping onto the edge, wondering what it would feel like to jump. I wasn't suicidal, really, because that implies some deep desire to die. I didn't have that. I was just drunk, sad, alone, and curious. And I was waiting. At some point, I had decided that Hank was going to rescue me. I thought of how romantic that would be--me crying on a bridge, while my handsome man (younger AND buff, I might ad) puts his arms around me, slips my shoes on (including the one he magically retrieved), and takes me home.

This rescue fantasy never happened. What happened is this: I got tired of waiting, tore myself away from the edge, stumbled across the remainder of the bridge, and sat down on the grated stairs--cold, tired, and disappointed. When Hank finally showed up, he told me he was unable to find my shoe. He asked if I was okay. I said I was and just wanted to get out of there. I suddenly remembered that my car was indeed parked a block from the bar, which meant we had to go back across that dreadful bridge (I told you I was drunk). But in the end, Hank did save me. He carried me the whole way back, and I didn't even have to ask him to.

I do think all women secretly want a man who can rescue them. Maybe this argument will infuriate independent women everywhere (it even makes me cringe), but I have to hold to it. If it makes them (us) feel better, all men probably want the same thing in a woman. When you look at it that way, it's pretty cool, really. Perhaps, it's biological. Or maybe it's just love. But, we rescue each other--as the famous last lines of "Pretty Woman" describe.

What do we rescue each other from? It could be from a broken heart or loneliness. It could from taking ourselves too seriously. And it could just be from walking home with only one shoe. Whatever it is, it feels pretty good knowing someone's there with us on our side. Maybe we just need to be reminded of that once in a while.

When I was packing to move to Denver to live with Hank, I came across the mateless shoe from the night we met. Though I had no logical reason to keep it, I couldn't make myself throw it away. Now, it resides in a glass cabinet in our living room, and it makes me smile every time I see it. It reminds me where we came from, and it reminds me I'm not alone.

I hope you'll be back. I will.