Thursday, October 11, 2012

Flats for Shorty

Click here, then read.

In 2006, I fell in love with a short man.  He was no taller than I was, and if he ever appeared so it was due to his wavy black hair, which would sometimes get poofy like a porn star’s.  If you put us butt-to-butt and smashed down his hair, you saw that we were exactly the same height.

At the time, I only wore heels.  In the winter months I would wear boots or clogs with two-inch heels at the least, and in the summer months (March through October here in sunny Arizona) a sandal was not a sandal without three or four inches of heel stacked underneath it.

I did own a couple pairs of flip-flops, and these got a lot of wear in my first few weeks of dating Shorty, but I was holding off on buying any other type of flats because, well, I didn't know yet if Shorty was going to love me back, or if he did, if his love would be up to my standards.

Plus, money was a little tight.

I was telling all of this to my former neighbor and best friend Flossie; she was 82 at the time.  We were leaned together over a formally-set table at Mimi’s Cafe, our favorite place for Sunday brunch; I'd had a particularly high-heeled night out with Shorty the night before.  “And it was kind of nice, in a way, to be taller than him,” I finished, with Flossie hanging on my every word. “Or else it was just nice to be out of those flip-flops for once.”

Flossie looked at me from across the table like a stern owl: “Kate Mohler, you go out and buy yourself some flats!”

“Why!?” I cried out as if she had thrust a dagger through my heart.  I don’t take criticism well.

“Because if a man is nice enough to take you out and buy you dinner, and take you to play pool and have a good time, then you can buy some flats, period, end of story.”  Flossie made the slashing motion she always made for emphasis.

Of course, she was right, just as she had been in so many other important matters before.  I went out and bought flats for Shorty, and our relationship lasted almost two years: my own personal record for any romantic relationship, including my marriage.

Now it is 2012, Flossie is up there somewhere watching over me, and I am again buying flats for a new man.  This man is nothing like Shorty at all, except for also being exactly my height.  This is a man who, upon close inspection, seems like a keeper…a man for whom Flossie would say to buy flats, if she were here to say it.

I buy the shoes (two pair: ballerina style, one black leather and one black leather with leopard print toes), take them home, and put them in my closet, still in their boxes.  I will wear them when New Man and I go out again.   

I will wear them when New Man comes over again.

I will wear them if I ever see New Man again?


A few telling days go by before I put the boxes back into the sturdy paper bag they had come in, the sturdy paper bag with one corner missing because—before I knew that I would be needing it again—I had chopped the corner out to make a tunnel-toy for my cats.  I put the mutilated bag with the two boxes inside it into the backseat of my car, and I tuck the receipt in there too.  I will return both pairs of shoes as soon as I find the time.  At least I didn’t wear them outside the store, so they are not scuffed.  At least it will be money back in my pocket.  That’s how Flossie would look at it, anyway.

Maybe she knew I’d need to return those shoes.

Thanks, old friend.  Missing you.


  1. Wait! He might have been sick. He might have been REALLY sick, too sick to let you know. He might have broken a leg. He might have been working his fingers to the bone at the office or wherever. He might have had a family emergency.

    Mightn't he?

    (It's good to see your kitty again.)

  2. Ohh dear, men are rubbish! Shame to waste new shoes on them anyway! I like a man to be taller than me or at least the same height. I love to go dancing and as not the smallest of ladies I feel like a giant if I dance with a short man. Mr M is enough taller than me so that I can wear heels if I want to although flats for dancing are better (I hate sore feet). He is also a fab dancer. I guess I could go out with a short guy as long as I could have a tall muscular dance partener?