Tag Archives: nyc

Holy Heel

In my previous life, I was a heel wearer.  A pretty high high-heel wearer.  I could wear those suckers all day at work.  I could run down the hall to the copy machine or to catch a train.  I probably could have even worked out in them.  With no problems.  These days, my footwear of choice are either something resembling that of a senior citizen’s orthopedic or hush puppies.

Last year, DH and I went into NYC with friends of ours.  You cannot go into NYC looking like a shlump.  So, I went to TJ Maxx and bought myself the cutest high heels that I could find in my size.  And that I thought I could manage.

photo

My gorgeous niece, who happens to be an amazing and talented hair dresser wears shoes that are about 3 inches taller than this all day at work.  So I know she would just roll her eyes at me and say that these are nothing.  To her and many other 20-somethings they ARE nothing. To me, it’s like wearing a torture device that resembles that of a nail bed sticking into the balls of my feet.

We drove into the city.  I wore them starting from home and all through dinner.  At this point, I want to cry.  I am already a wobbling, limping idiot.  But I didn’t want to take them off for fear of not being able to get them on again.  When we were at dinner, I sat there with my legs crossed tightly because I was afraid to walk to the bathroom which happened to be upstairs.  When I finally realized I had to give in or REALLY embarrass myself, I stared at that staircase in fear.  As if I were going to be walking to my execution.  And when I just could not possibly hold it any longer, I looked like a drunk three-toed sloth.  Might I add, we were in a really trendy, pishy-poshy eating establishment whose clientele was young enough to be my children.  And I looked like a complete ass.

After we finished dinner, we decided to walk to the comedy club.  Why I agreed is beyond me.  I should have hailed a cab.  I was so desperate to NOT walk, that I would have thrown myself in front of one just to stop the pain.

Since then, I have tried to wear them on a night out again.  But the thought creates such anxiety I need a Xanax.  So I settle on my orthopedics.  What can I say?  I rock those orthos.  And my feet have thanked me time and time again.

The American Girl Bait and Tackle

This is the biatch that started it all

Scam Artist

May I tell a story about how American Girl sunk her manufactured teeth into our middle income wallets?  I’m sure many of you can relate.

It all started in December 2003.  My mother-in-law, the kid and I are in a taxi cab going to see the Christmas Show.  When, what to my MIL’s wondering eyes should appear but….The American Girl Place.  Why oh why did you have to look, mom.  She’s got enough Barbie’s to choke a small horse.  She certainly doesn’t need any other doll, that’s for sure.  I wanted to tell the driver to step on it.  But it was too late.

MIL:  (Gasp) Look what they opened!!!

The kid:  (gasp, gasp, and more gasping)

ME:  Oh help me Lord.

I’m not quite sure how it happened, but we somehow wound up at “The Place”, along with 90% of the city’s spoiled little rich girls and their mothers.  After we get trampled on by over-priced doll loving brats and make our way up the escalator, we see this store has a cafe.  Of course it does.  Lucky for us, there is an opening.  Joy.  They seat us.  But they do not seat us alone.  No.  We have a guest.  Her name is “Samantha” and she is seated down to the kid’s left.  She even gets her very own teacup and saucer.  How nice.

We have a marvelous time.  It’s truly magical.  Memories to last a lifetime.  The only problem is, Samantha doesn’t get to come home with us. No, if we want our very own “Samantha” it’s gonna cost.  And big.  All I can say is, thank God this joint serves wine.

ME:  Ok, honey, say goodbye to Samantha.  She has to go back to see her friends now.

The Kid:  Oh, but mommy, I am so attached to her.  I just love her so…

She has mustered up the cutest little tear in the corner of her right eye.  Yup, I fell for it.  Hook, line and sinker.

On the train ride home, there is one happy kid and one dumbstruck mother whose bank account has been depleted of $100+ in a matter of seconds.  DH is gonna love this one.

It turns out, Samantha makes for a great conversation piece:

The kid:  Oh mommy thank you so much.  She is my best friend!  I LOVE her! (blah, blah)

MIL:  You are such a wonderful mother. (blah, blah, blah)

And so that’s how it continued for 73 minutes.  Hearing about how wonderful the doll and I are.  So happy to be placed in a category with Miss Samantha.  It warms my heart.

That little jaunt was the start of a very expensive addiction.  9 years and 12 dolls, clothes and accessories later and guess where they are?  In the attic with the mice, bats and cobwebs waiting to sink their teeth into a new generation.

Let this be a warning to all mothers of doll loving little girls…do not eat in the cafe.  They are running quite the operation.  I am living proof that this is true.