Having joined “the club” a few weeks ago, I am now 40. Which did not send me into crisis mode, because I sure don’t FEEL any older. More importantly, I consider myself lucky. Due to a genetic defect, the women in my family rarely see their mid-forties. Far too many have battled cancer and passed away much too soon. We find birthdays to be a blessing. We actually like getting older…
To celebrate my happy occasion, two of my dearest friends (already in their 40’s) took me to lunch. The last to arrive, I slid into the booth delighted to join two of my favorites. Intelligent, hard-working, creative and well-turned out. Smiling lips coated with lipstick, hair in place and looking smart—from what I could see.
The three of us caught up over a leisurely lunch and enjoyed some highly entertaining conversation. (A given when three women are together!) Even when the drink of choice is Diet Coke. All too soon it was time to leave. As we stood up to exchange hugs, I stopped dead in my tracks…
“White tennis shoes?” I gasped.
Inside, I was thinking, “Is this what being 40 means? PERFECTLY turned out from the top of their heads and down to their…ankles. Where their feet really clad in clunky sneakers?” I kept those thoughts to myself as they defended their ensembles.
There were mumbles of “comfort, bunions, plantar fasciitis…”
Ugh! As if those count as good excuses. Never having experienced foot pain, it IS possible that I am missing something…
And please understand that my mother rarely bought me sneakers. She didn’t see the need. Pretty flats, clogs, cute Sporto shoes with the tan flap in the winter, fancy heels for formal dances—She was into anything BUT tennis shoes, which she deemed tacky. (And given that she wasn’t having me go to school in sweatpants—it wasn’t like I needed sneakers…) Thankfully, the rules were relaxed for sports. I can’t imagine trying to play basketball in clogs.
As an adult, the only time I wear sneakers is when I am tramping through the woods with my dogs or outside working in the yard. Though I often wear my sparkly flip-flops while driving the riding lawnmower. And I adore my Barbie Shoes. That’s what I call the heeled sandals that I favor in warmer months—especially paired with a skirt and a pedicure.
Given my limited lifetime exposure to sneakers, I can’t see age influencing my choice in footwear. I plan to keep mine somewhat fashionable. Then again, I haven’t been to the Podiatrist. And I haven’t had my arches come crashing down.