Red Shoes and the Fall

There were those rare moments when I have made sincere moments to be girl enough or woman enough. And my passion for shoes were also part of those efforts. In a politically correct sense, perhaps I was a pseudo-communist. I had umpteen pairs of shoes and was really proud of them when I wore. I guess there is a talented snob in me. I wanted people to notice my shoes,  so when I outgrew those doll shaped squeaky shoes (where the squeaks attract people) I had to rely on other techniques to make people notice my shoes. I would stretch my legs when playing, eating, speaking or even when walking. I wanted to see my shoes and others to see them too.

My dad would notice me doing them and say, "Stretch your feet only when they ache".  But I lost the head on my shoulders after another pair of red shoes was added to my pseudo-communist lifestyle. Those red shoes absorbed the snob in me fully.  I refused to remove them during sleeping hour at nursery.

I was too carried away by my new found fancy and even when people lifted me up to give a hug, I would twist my torso the opposite direction so that people around noticed my shoes at such a good altitude.

And then one day  the Gods up there knew it was time to curtail my uncontrollable passion. I was playing alone one day and saw a monkey watching me play. I pointed  my red shoes at  the monkey and then a horror began. The monkey became unfriendly and pulled my shoes and snarled at meI was too shocked to cry out or run away. My so called baby sitter saw my plight and told me to throw away the other shoe. Helpless I threw the other red shoe away. The monkey lost interest in the single shoe on my lone foot and grabbed the one I had thrown and hearing the baby sitter's alarms it scurried away towards its trees.

"oh my what pretty shoes!" the baby sitter commented as she carried me home. I hated to see them, I didn't want to see shoes anymore and I didn't want anyone to see them anymore. I did not understand the reason behind my avoidance act, but then later Dad helped me understand the reason through a fairy tale entitled "The Red Shoes" by Hans Christian Andersen.http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Red_Shoes_(fairy_tale)

 Pride does go before a Fall. Ever since I have never stretched my feet(physically &metaphorically)      even when they ached.