The transformative power of a good pair of shoes

Got to thinking last night while I stared at the ceiling and listened to the Math Scholar snore. First thought was, if I smother him with a pillow, would that be considered spousal abuse? Second thought was, if I smother myself with a pillow, will I at least get some rest? Third thought was, what is that dark spot on the wall? Fourth thought was, why does the water pump sound so loud at 3:30 in the morning?

At last thoughts settled down into some semblance of rationality, and I got to musing about shoes. As we know, shoes are vital to the mental health of some women. I have no good shoes, mostly because I have bad feet. They are very hard to fit comfortably, mostly because they are small and wide -- like short blocks of wood. I'm quite sure that being XXX pounds overweight doesn't help the situation. So my current shoe wardrobe is woefully unsexy: sneakers and muck boots. And I'm not kidding -- that's it. I have no other shoes.

I dream of someday owning a pair of kick-ass high heels or those awesome thigh-high leather jobs that are just Made For Walking All Over You. I'd like stilettos, although I know they take a certain panache to pull off. I believe that with time and many crunches, I will have that panache.

But I was thinking about shoes. They are Important. I hope my extensive blog-readership will forgive me if I channel Clarissa Pinkola-Estes for a moment and start talking about fairy tales. So many, many feature shoes. Cinderella, of course. The shoes were the central element there. And then there's Gerda and her red boots in "The Snow Queen." The boots in "East of the Sun and West of the Moon." And the demon shoes in "The Red Shoes." Not to mention, if we're going to expand our definition of fairy tale, Dorothy's Ruby Slippers (yes, I know that MGM was responsible for that, and I still don't care).

Guys get magic swords. We get magic shoes. Why is that? I don't believe it has anything to do with sexism or misogyny; these tales have been around for too long. They were passed from grandmother to granddaughter. I think of those venerable old women who knew so much; I think of them sitting by the hearth with their daughters at their sides. Maybe they were knitting. Maybe they were rocking. But surely they were sharing a secret:

There's power in a good pair of shoes.