• Kaye Curren

Red Strappy Shoes Save the Day

“Ah,” she said, “I see you are wearing your ‘please fuck me’ shoes tonight. Hope you get lucky.”

After the wedding reception receiving line was finished and we had all mingled, we headed for the large reception area near the pool. Jenny’ candles were lit and gave a festive glow to the surrounding dance floor. Rows of lanterns all around the room looked like small flying saucers. The 14th century Hacienda Los Angeles had come alive with golden light and soft breezes. I think if anyone wanted to start a romance, it could have started here, with the music, the wine, and the golden lamps lighting the trees overhead.

I noticed the silver-templed man who had smiled at me, and I had hoped to dance with, was deeply engaged in a slow dance with a beautiful partner. So much for that fantasy.

Grandpa Gonzalez, who had proclaimed me "muy guapa" at the family luncheon, sat with his Spanish girlfriend on the sidelines. I caught him looking my way a few times when she wasn’t watching. There was no way Grandpa was going to ask me to dance. His girlfriend had a vice grip on his arm and a gendarme look in her eyes.

I sat out the slow dances but suddenly Idalino’s father grabbed my hand and swung me onto the dance floor. Arms outstretched in Flamenco style, he held a pose, then began to circle around me. I stretched out my arms and tried to follow. I was proud that I still had my red strappy shoes on, though they were killing my feet -- shoes so perfect they spent five days in a stretch machine. By now they were wearing blisters on my toes. I was ready to discard them and the reception was only half over.


I had run into a friend of Jenny’s at the dinner. She was an ESL instructor from New York living in Madrid.

“You must be Jenny’s mother. She looks like you.”

“Yes,” I said, “She once did when I was 18 and weighed 100 lbs.”

She laughed. “Hi, my name is Cynthia Holmes. Jenny and I took ESL master classes together in Lisbon.”

We chatted about her teaching and how much she loved Madrid. As we talked, she eyed my shoes and stopped for a moment.

“Ah,” she said, “I see you are wearing your ‘please fuck me’ shoes tonight. Hope you get lucky.”

As she walked away, I looked down at my shoes and laughed. Now, why didn’t I wear these shoes all those years no man asked me for a date? I could have flashed my shoes in his face, and love would surely have caught fire.

Rachel, Jenny’s friend, came up to say hello and asked me what was so funny.

“Oh, just a joke about a man, a date, and a pair of shoes.” I said.

Luckily, Rachel floated off again as she was prone to do, and I did not have to elaborate.

#weddingreception #redstrappyshoes #HowtoGetaDate


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