for the love of (dance) shoes

I always wanted to be a dancer. Mostly for the shoes. I love dance shoes. (Well ok – I love shoes period, but I especially love dance shoes.)

It's been a love affair for as long as I can remember. 

When I was little, my grandmother let me play in her closet. It wasn’t the fur coats or vintage dresses or even the jewelry that drew me in – it was the shoes. My grandmother loved to dance and she had quite the collection of glittery ballroom dance shoes for me to choose from.   

When I was 8, I begged my mom to sign me up for tap lessons.  Admittedly, I really didn’t care about tap dancing per se, but boy oh boy did I love the shoes.  I wouldn’t take them off – I wore those buckled patent leather Mary Janes everywhere I went and all the time – even to bed.  (I thought they made me really cool - tappity, tap, tap, tap.)

Then as a teenager I became enamoured with flamenco. But again, it was really all about the shoes (and ok – the flower behind the ear and red lipstick.) When everyone else was wearing water buffalo wedge sandals with their wrap around tie-dye skirts; I wore my dainty soft leather tee-straps and clicked my heels dramatically. (I thought I was all kinds of exotic and mysterious - ole'.)

And..... of all the things I ever bought on my travels, my most prized souvenir/possession was a pair of purple suede shoes I bought at an outdoor market in Argentina just so I could take tango lessons from a guy named Oscar who was suavely latin with dark smouldering eyes and who wore a walnut around his neck. Ok – so that was one time that it wasn’t entirely about the shoes, but they did play an integral part.  (Cheek to cheek, I pretended I was Evita and he was Che.) *blushes*

(pausing to regain my composure)

But of all the dance shoes I have ever owned, nothing comes close to the shoes my best friend gifted me with to celebrate “the big move” as I “dance my way” into my new store location.

I pulled them out of the sack and was (literally) struck speechless by the audacity and bodaciousness of these “stand back and take notice; bow down before greatness; all hail the Queen; I rule“ statement of these shoes in....(dramatic pause)  red (and I do mean red) glitter (no less).

Just begging to be filled by my feet.

“OMG” I squeal upon first look.
“They just screamed Queen Dani and I knew I had to have them for you."  my friend says.
“Absolutely,” I affirm a little breathlessly, “Did you get hurt fighting off the crowds to get them for me? ”
“Just a couple scratches” she shrugs, “But it was worth it.”
“Oh yea,” I say nodding my head vigorously, “I can do some serious dancing in these babies.”
“Yep…or ass kicking.“ she points out.

These shoes were not made for amateurs or the timid – they were most definately made for a Queen, and not just any queen either - nope, they were made for me.  We were destined to be together.


I’m sure you’ll agree - once you feast your eyes on THIS: 

bow down

Yeppers, I love these shoes.
I so seriously do.
Because they DO scream all kinds of me for a whole lotta reasons.

Whether I put them on for a little dancing or for some kicking ass (and taking names.)

And I love my bestie, who understood how much I needed these shoes right now.  And because I know she probably didn’t really fight off any crowds of people getting them for me, but let me believe she did because it makes me laugh to think it.

That's my story on, this  - day one of 30 days of love. 
Do you have a story of shoe love and/or best friends? 
I'd love to hear it - please share!