satan-shoes

You know that part in The Wizard of Oz where that house falls on that one chick and the camera pans in on her hideous shoes protruding from underneath the foundation? Yesterday my mom came home with shoes like that, because her last pair of heels were wrought with holes.

She wore them this morning as she was preparing for work, and at first glance, in my early-morning fatigue, I mumbled, 'Those look like witch shoes.'

And it's too bad I'm not kidding, huh? They had square-shaped tips to them and were a neatly-polished black, and I couldn't decide whether they belonged on the aforementioned witch or a school teacher wielding a whip.

However, after wearing such horrid shoes throughout the entire day, my mom discovered they gave her entire foot innumerable blisters and, thankfully, decided to return them and get a refund.

I concluded that I would go with her, since her taste is obviously lacking if she purchased shoes that a stereotypical witch would be frightened to wear in the first place.

And you know what? All of the dress shoes nowadays look like that, with the square-like points and whatnot. For a few fleeting moments I thought I was in Russia, where choices are scarce.

The rest of my day has already been elaborated upon at my other diary, except with the Satan-shoes excluded.

Damn, and you know what else? A few minutes ago my mom presented me with this dress she ordered out of a catalog. It was your basic black dress in all aspects of the principle, and I probably could've sewn something like that myself. Before I had time to ponder my reaction, I blurted out, 'Mom, that dress sucks.'

'No it doesn't, Kate,' she replied, examining the dress. 'Lots of women wear dresses like this.'

'Yeah, and they're Amish.'

Later I discovered that the catalog dubbed the said article of clothing as a 'simple-knit black dress.' Hard to disagree with that one. Nevertheless, it reminded me of a TV show I saw back in the day. This neighborhood curmudgeon died suddenly (and I mean 'suddenly' in the sense that she was standing and talking casually and without warning hit the floor with a muted thud), and because she had no friends to speak of to provide her with a proper funeral, the protagonists decided to instead fund one simply out of respect for humanity.

Thus, they trudged off in the direction of the funeral parlor, whereupon the mortician began persuading them to select a certain coffin that would provide him with a hefty profit, saying it was called the 'Omega 3000' and had won several awards and whatnot.

'How much?' one of the protagonists questioned skeptically.

'Also,' the mortician continued obliviously, opening the lid of the gold-adorned coffin, 'the interior is lined with lead --'

The coffin lid was in turn slammed shut to emphasize the interruption. 'We're not burying Superman. How much?'

'Six thousand,' the mortician reluctantly answered.

'Mr. Pfiefer!' another protagonist exclaimed. 'We are begrieved on a budget!'

Mr. Pfiefer shruged in disappointment and led them to a binder filled with other various coffins the could choose from, pointing respectible ones out and briefly describing them.

A protagonist reached over and pointed at a picture upon the page and asked flatly, 'What's this one called?'

'A pine box.'

'How much?'

'A hundred.'

'Sold!'

But yeah, I was reminded of the famed 'pine box' when my mom explained that her dress-of-interest was called a 'simple-knit black dress.' Morbid, yeah?