So I know I’ve mentioned this before, but I never wear girly shoes. Now, in many ways, I am a very girly person. I have long hair and I like dresses and “Gilmore Girls” and all that jazz. But I am missing, like, a gene. The one that gets girly girls really excited to go buy fake Luis Vuitton bags.

Or any bags, for that matter. I have a lot of crap that I need with me at all times, you know? This includes: my hairbrush, 27 lipglosses, and all of my makeup so that I can get ready in the car as I go to work. So in an ironic twist, I can’t be pocketbook (or “purse”) girly, because I need all my makeup. I don’t have the time or the energy for those tiny little clutchy things that hold like, one lipstick and my wallet, because first of all, what wallet? Second of all, don’t even talk to me about those compact brushes. They don’t work. And third, I lose every single smallish bag I try to use. So that’s out.

But yeah, I’m also really not into shoes. Part of it is that I don’t like the “cool” style that’s been around awhile — those pointy things that make me think not of sexiness, but of the Wicked Witch of the East. So I’m not very motivated to spend my money buying them, or my time and energy trying to walk in them. Because that’s the other part of it — I really like being comfortable, and resent the notion that in order to look nice, one has to be in pain or unable to run around.

My missing gene and indignance with society are compounded by the absence of my credit cards, which I got rid of. It used to be that if I wanted to buy clothes, I’d just use my magical cards to go shopping. Hence the not having them anymore. Also, I’m lazy about errands. So somewhere along the line, I got into the habit of not putting much effort into my wardrobe.

But yesterday I decided I was going step out of my comfort zone and be a girly girl for a change of pace. I went shopping and managed to find some good sales, and came home with clothes and a plan. I lay out — get this — a skirt (with lace!), black hose (not tights!), a (dressy!) shirt, my (matching!) underwear, and…SHOES! Honest to goodness, bona fide, girly shoes. My mom got them for me. And while they are not pointy, they are definitely girly. They even have pink stitching in them that matches the pink in my skirt!

This morning, everything seemed to be going well. I even did most of my makeup in the house instead of the car, and blew out my hair a little bit. And by the time I arrived at work, all of my jewelry was on. Of course, I was 12 minutes late, but that is neither here nor there.

Anyway, I walked into work, like a full-on girl who maybe if you didn’t look closely would even seem like she got her nails done on a regular basis, and I think it was then that I upset the natural balance of the Earth. Like in “The Little Mermaid,” when Ursula starts breaking out of that brunette Ariel guise, and while she is not big scary octopus Ursula, she is certainly no fair maiden.

Because first, my shoes got big on me all of a sudden! So I am clumping around like a six year old playing dress-up, and that is not sexy.

Then Babz blew ashes on me by accident.

Then mysterious crumbs and random markings appeared on my outfit out of nowhere.

Then I got a hole in my stockings.

Then I got a run.

A battle was waged, you know with valor and whathaveyou, to defend my girlyhood against these relentless attacks. Armed with a lint roller, hairspray, and toilet paper for the toes of my shoes, I put up a good fight. But to no avail. I’m tired now. Too tired to fight anymore.

Maybe its ’cause I don’t have a girly purse. Maybe that is the magical element that keeps the forces of dirtbaggery away. I don’t know. I will lay out my clothes again tonight. But this time, its going to be a sweatshirt and jeans.

And sneakers. Definitely sneakers.

© April 26, 2005