I’m digging through the hall closet searching for an alternate pair of flip flops when Kaya whines “Mom, my highheels broke a long, long, long, long time before. I need a new pair so I can teach you how.”
“I know how to walk in high heels.”
“No you don’t.”
“Yes I do. I have some here in the closet.”
Dig some more. Waaaaaayyyy in the back.
Kaya looks flabbergasted. Like she has discovered a whole new dimension of her mommy. A very intriguing one.
Then I pull out a pair of simple, black pumps. Oh god, probably last worn 10 days before Kaya was born, at my brothers wedding. Damn, that’s almost four years.
Anyways, I pull them out and Kaya’s eyes double in size. Then her delighted, though-she-does-not-want-to-show-you-she’s-delighted smile erupts. She immediately puts them on, prances around for awhile, realizes she has a revelation to reveal to Daddy, then falls out of them while running out to Daddy’s office.
“Daddy, daddy, you know what?”
“What?” he asks probably expecting to hear a story about a cartoon.
“Mommy has highheels!”
His swift and immediate retort?
“No she doesn’t.”
Which is when I come in increduously demanding “Yes I do! Of course I do!”
“Oh yah, aren’t they silver?”
He speaks of a pair I had when I was a bridesmaid in my friends wedding. Which was, oh, ELEVEN BLOODY YEARS AGO!!
I sigh. One of resignation. Defeat.
I do, afterall, have a designated comfy pair of flip flops. As opposed to all those uncomfy pairs…
Kaya is teaching me after all. All about how to pull off strutting in heels.
To diverge only slightly, the other morning I was teasing the girls with my scarf. Lassoing them in for tickles and such. As we are all flopped in bed giggling, I wrap the scarf around my head and drape over my shoulders. Kaya sits up in awe, “Mom, you look like a woman!”
So it would seem my daughter has caught on to my not being so much the girly girl. If she could, I have no doubt she would be writing a letter to Carrie Bradshaw or the What Not to Wear folk demanding her mommy get a makeover. Not yet though. Kindergarten class project perhaps?
PS. Those are totally Dr. Scholl’s inserts in those heels. Leave me alone.