Sublime. That is the only way I can describe yesterday. Life’s delicious (and simple) surprises, sweeping away the worries for an hour here, an hour there. It’s all about a mother. And a magic hat. 
I was tapping out the tale just an hour ago, while sipping my favorite (extra bold) Italian roast. But cruel fate! Purveyors of angst and addiction! While typing, I received an email from a friend, a talented tempter of tiny story-spinning shoe-shoppers. Yes, said so-called friend sent me images of shoes! And not just any shoes. (You know already, don’t you.) They were the gold at the end of the rainbow, the Holy Grail of French footwear, the provocative product of the Parisian prince himself. Christian Louboutin.
Cruel, cruel friend who dares to forward not only pictures but links! And so early in the morning when my resistance is low! (Do I hear an emergency flight to Paris in the works to offset the fist-in-gut longing that results from such beauty? Air France is having specials. Any takers to house my son? And perhaps I could linger for a little French sex versus proper parenting? Might that (and croissants and espresso) squelch the angst, the addiction, the burning desire to run – not walk – to my nearby Neiman Marcus just to slip my little feet into these heavenly creations?)
The devil wears Louboutin 
Is this devilish do-badder unaware that a round-trip ticket to Paris costs less than the leopard fur booties dangled before my kohl-rimmed eyes? And oui, I dare admit I’ve tried them on previously, and they were divine!
Does this faux-friend not know that these booties would pay for the college visits to two universities with my teen son? What temptation! What folly!
Asking your indulgence
I promise to return to the subject of my serendipitous sojourn to another time and place (yesterday’s happy moments) – the subject of my false-start morning musing. But for now, all I can do is ask your indulgence in my indulgence, as I share these images.
And that brings me to the issue of your input which is a topic of only slightly less monumental significance than global warming and health care reform. Might I ask, what footwear I should don next for my revolving set of blog banners? It’s November after all, with its sharp bite in the air, morning rising crisply, and frost forming on the windows. Isn’t it time to reflect the change in seasons? Time to move away from Spring and Summer’s black patent slides, red stiletto slingbacks, and most recently, the strappy sandal?
Any preferences?
Any requests? The basic black heeled boot? A bootie? (No Louboutins.) The classic black patent close-toed pump (with peek-a-boo toe cleavage), or possibly a fun and funky brown stacked sandal? Or do I toss the five feet banner bonanza, and seek something else? Suggestions? Do you care? (Likely not.)
But shot, shot, shot is the hope at left and right brain joining together to craft prose of any substance. So I yield, throwing my hands up into the air, admitting that I’d rather play dress-up, and then go out on the town for naughty nightcaps and womanly wining and dining. (Do remember, it’s Saturday – and rare that I get time off for good behavior. I’m the wheels – and the sultry Saturday nights seem to belong to my son!)
As for the inebriating evil email that started this, my mind wanders. Oh for the flashy but pulse-quickening candy and lace patent spike pumps! Imagine sheer black hose, lacy corset underneath (French, naturellement), a fitted black dress… that Louboutin would be a stocking stuffer, indeed.
Angst and addiction
So it goes, my life these past years: angst over money, over children, over jobs; addiction to caffeine to keep plugging, to walking so I may obliterate sorrow, to fledgling optimism because it is my nature, to gazing at art and shoes and shoes as art, and most of all, to words. Because words serve every corner of my being, even if only as haven, my personal place of lost-and-found, to paint a smile on morning’s face: my moments to dream, and feel like a girl again.
© D A Wolf
I am loving this seasons ’shabootie’- you know, the high heeled shoe boot (ankle). I’ve worn mine out every night this week!
What kind(s) do you have? (Yum. Tell!)
Now I’m just jealous. I’m wearing, uh, Nike Shox thanks to a freaking foot injury. But, you know, not forever.
Also, anything with significant toe cleavage makes me annoyed.
Laughing! (But we all know that toe cleavage is one of those little known secret weapons that drives certain men wild…) Sorry about your foot! (Drink heavily to ease the pain. Dr. Big Little Wolf’s orders.)
What would life be without angst and addiction? A shred boring, I think
How about cuissardes? Or maybe not, huh?
Why oh why do you not have a followers gadget?
Let’s see that’s three questions. Now a statement: Your blog is terrific, fun, funny, beautifully written a joy.
Laughing! Cuissardes are fabulous, but I don’t think I’d be able to run them across the banner quite like the pumps, the sandals, the booties… I’d have to recline (strategically), and show off a single horizontal image. Hmmm. That’s a whole other way to view fab footwear. (Could I wear my hat?)
For those who don’t know – “cuissardes” are thigh high boots (usually pretty sexy) – from the French cuisses (thighs). This image of cuissardes – just one of many styles featured on the French fashion blog, Paperblog.