I stared at the rain, patiently, willing for it to stop. I glanced over at my Manolo Blahniks, waiting in the corner like a good little puppy, but I knew if the rain didn’t stop I couldn’t wear them. I couldn’t risk ruining them or getting my feet wet and being uncomfortable all night. No, I couldn’t do that…

If the rain didn’t let up I knew I’d have to wear the back-up shoes still sitting in my closet. Black patent Cole Haan peep-toe heels. The same ones Angelina wore on the red carpet when she was pregnant. But they just weren’t the same.

There’s a crow on my balcony, also waiting for the rain the stop. I tried shooing him away, to no avail, he simply moved over but was permanently attached to our balcony. I just hoped he wouldn’t shit. Bird shit sucks.

My boyfriend told me again, hurry, let’s go, we’d be late, I suppose. But the rain. I just wanted to wear my shoes.

I knew it really didn’t matter what shoes I wore, only, to me, it somehow made the world of a difference. The difference between a sassy pair of golden leopard print sandals and a pair of boring black shiny ones that a freaking pregnant lady wore.

I sighed.

The rain has won. The Manolos put back in their cloth bag awaiting a sunny day. The Cole Haan’s come out for another night of debauchery – as much as one can have with a four year old in their care, that is.

The night was fun as always, there was more food than you can eat and more alcohol than my liver allows – and I forgot all about my shoes that night.

Later, I wondered why it mattered so much to me, to wear the Manolos – the night would likely be no different with the other pair, but I make such a big deal of it all.

At the end of the day, it’s not the shoes I wear, it’s the moments I remember – the times I laughed, the food I tasted, the kisses I shared. The shoes are just the icing on the cake.

xoxo

Fab Brunette

*Shoes pictured above are not my shoes. Image from weheartit.com