A girlfriend of mine, Tiny Dancer, moved away with her husband after college. They own a house here in Colorado that they rent out, and they come back to throw parties every so often. She and I always have a seriously banging time when she’s out here.
See?
This particular time, after a couple of drinks, I started explaining to her how if she was a thing turned into a person, that thing would be a pointe shoe.
This whole ‘explaining’ thing is what I do when I’m drinking. Other things I’ve explained to people (occasionally strangers) while in the happy arms of alcohol: how I choose nicknames for my blog; why my style statement is ‘organic whimsy’; why girlfriends are the best kind of friends but I don’t do very well at keeping them; and in the memorable case of a budding photographer I met at the Waterloo, why I was totally sure he was gay. He wrote a note on the back of my checkbook at the end of the night offering to be my wedding photographer – ‘if you ever get married’. (Yeah. Fuck you too, lil photoman.)
I then proceeded to tell Tiny Dancer’s little sister that if SHE were a thing turned into a person, that thing would be a man eating orchid. (Don’t worry, Tiny Dancer’s little sister was actually quite flattered.)
They responded by telling me I’m a pom-pom. I can’t possibly explain to you how happy that made me – can you think of something better to be? Cheerful and colorful and used for celebration and enthusiasm?
I told this whole story to Queen B and Suzan when we were together a couple of weeks ago. They wanted to know what they were, but they preferred to stick to shoes, and I can kind of see their point. When you have an entire universe of inanimate objects to choose from, it makes it really hard to compare your outcomes. If I’m a pom-pom and Crockett is one of those oldfashioned shaving cream brushes, how can we analyze our compatibility? And really, how can a pom-pom be friends with a pointe shoe?
Suzan was easy. Queen B has these sexy yet sort of proper boots that I don’t have a picture of – they’re a soft brown leather with a mid-height heel and a toe like this:
and they’re so very Suzan.
I was also easy.
If I have to explain, you don't know me at all. Also, if these disappear from Queen B's house I'm going to need one of you to provide me with an alibi.
Queen B, however, is proving more difficult. We need something sassy yet classy. Definitely something expensive.
Perhaps something like this?
If you’d like to weigh in, feel free to go check out her blog, Queen B Says, and get back to me with suggestions.
What I’m more interested in, though, is what shoe are you? I know you’re out there, darlings, I can see you in my stats, but I don’t know you very well. I want to know what shoe you are, or if you think it’s stupid to even call yourself a shoe. (If that’s the case, you may be in the wrong place. Unless you think it’s awesome to call yourself a pompom. Then you’re definitely in the right place and also do you want to be my best friend?) If you don’t want to stick to shoes, I give you permission to choose anything you want – I’m secretly still thinking of myself as a pom-pom.
UPDATE:
Neither the lovely Kortney nor I were able to get photos into the comments, so she was sweet enough to email hers to me. I just have to include them, because how great is the shoe one, and how much do you wish you were the thing-pencil??
Kortney as shoes.
I don’t know where this picture came from, but I need more photos of my feet happily ensconced in beds of clover.
Kortney as a troll pencil thingie.
