THAT'S NOT MY TABLE

My shoe size is 10 wide. I was born with big feet. In my next life, I will ask for size 6. Until then I'm stuck with size 10 wide.

All my life I've yearned to be able to buy the shoes displayed in the shop window, not the ones on the shelves hidden in the big shoe section. Women with big feet hide back there hoping no one notices they are trying on shoe box-sized shoes.

Shoes just don't look as cute in giant size. I've dated men with feet smaller than mine.

I have a hard time finding shoes that fit. The regular stores don't sell many wide sizes and the wide-size store shoes are so expensive.

(However, having big feet did help when I would do the tree pose in yoga. The pose requires you balance on one leg and my 10 wides did a good job balancing me upright. Also, when I hike around the mountains near my house in Phoenix they keep me grounded on rocky trails.)

There is nothing worse for a server than to have feet that hurt. I no longer worry about having fashionable shoes when I serve tables. It matters more how my feet feel than how they look.

On the left are the shoes I wear to work. I buy them at Walmart. Yes. I admit it. I shop at Walmart. They have zippers and padded soles. They look like men's shoes. I usually go through a pair every two months. The bottom's get cracked and worn. These are my ugly, but comfortable, shoes. These are my working girl shoes.

On the right are my silver dancing shoes. They have jewels. And they make me taller and then I feel thinner. And they actually fit my big feet! What a fine. I had to buy them. No working is done in these shoes, dancing and looking pretty, drinking red wine in a sexy dress, is the purpose. I bought them right before my knee surgery, in January. My friend encouraged me to buy them though at the time I could barely walk much less dream of twirling around a dance floor.

When I was hobbling around after surgery, knee bandaged and swollen, I would look at my Cinderella shoes and dream of the day I could slip them on and look sexy. I would dance the night away, way past midnight, and I wouldn't lose these shoes fleeing the clock sounding twelve. Besides, there is no prince and pumpkin carriage waiting for me, though if I did lose my silver slippers a prince wouldn't have much trouble finding the girl with the size 10 Wide feet.

Well my knee surgery is over, but I'm afraid to wear my Cinderella shoes. Not that there has been occasion yet, but I'm afraid I'll fall off them! They have spindly heels and I can just imagine myself toppling over on the dance floor, hurting my knee again. And then more surgery. Blech!

Have I reached the age where comfort matters more than look? No! I refuse to admit this. I have a red sequined dress than I plan to wear with those silver slippers. I paid $35 for those shoes, and I'm going to get at least one wear out of them. Once I was too young to wear high heels and now I worry I'm too old. Why didn't I wear more high heels in my 20s!

I think wearing those ugly black shoes at work has made me feel more like the Cinderella that is forced to clean the fireplace and scrub pots and pans than the Cinderella that goes to balls and gets her hair done. I think we all need both in our lives. Our regular daily lives and our magical lives. I know there is no one that is going to rescue me. But why not have some fantasy, dress in rhinestone silver shoes now and then, and make believe that life is full of all sorts of magical possibilities.