At my age and time of life, I do prefer comfortable footwear. Sissy has accused me at times of being gay, but this is not due to my choice of footwear, but rather as the result of having been born with what she calls "lesbian fingernails." (They're short stubby nails on short stubby fingers.) I've heard from her since the tender age of 11 that I have them, and since I don't know of any way to genetically reprogram them to grow differently, they'll just have to do. However, I do concede that my shoes might well give someone pause. I have short stubby feet, too, little flat things that look fine in a rice paddy but which look ridiculous in pumps. Remember Petunia Pig? (She's the one on the left.) Well, picture her trotters and you have my feet and legs exactly.
I walk a lot, averaging at this time about 9, 240 steps per day (Ipod tells me so) and I can't do this, on city streets, in high heels. As thrilled as I am that Cole Haan teamed up with Nike, I still can't wear their pumps comfortably, even the "wide" sizes, although I do try. They may have made Oprah happy, but so far, they haven't done much for me. So, enter The Croc. Now, I'm not talking about the Croc clog, which is frankly hard for me to wear but the little slip-on Malindis. I own several pairs, and the most darling ones are in leopard print. In fact, I have two sets of leopard print Crocs, one in cotton candy pink, another in a slightly more tasteful taupe (if leopard can ever be considered tasteful.) As adorable as they are, however, they are not the perfect shoe for Beijing.
For starters, it's hot and humid here, and I frequently get my feet wet. Beijing humidity, water run off from construction sites, and the occasional brief downpour contribute to make the dusty streets slick with a mucoid sludge which immediate infiltrates all Crocs and makes them slimy, inside and out. To walk in Beijing in Crocs after a rain storm is to take your life into your own hands: that sludge, combined with God only knows what chemicals, produces the sort of sliding affect best left credited to banana peels. I walked into a hotel lobby yesterday, in search of an international fax line (yes, I know, SO 1997!) and slid and skittered my way to the reception desk, bored hotel clerks gazing sullenly at me all the while, just daring for me to fall so they could act even more disdainful. At that moment I had an epiphany: time to get back into my I-Love-Them-But-They-Go-With-Nothing Mint-Green Nikes.
Crocs are popular here, and I'm sure they make a wonderful change for the ladies who usually teeter around in sky-high boots with pointed heels jacked up to Jesus. I adore them, and I will no doubt bring a pair to Inner Mongolia with me, but I'm just not sure the leopard ones will do. Leopard is just Too In, and I feel as if pairing them with my traditional cat-eye sunglasses (with rhinestones) is a little too twee and maybe even the straw that breaks the camel's back and sends me over that line from "Cute and Fun" to "Has No Taste Crazy Middle Aged Lady."
As for people thinking I'm gay because I wear comfortable flats, well, obviously they don't know me very well. I have only one female friend who is gay and I did ask her once over a very late cocktail evening what she sensed about me on her gaydar. "Supportively straight," she replied, without blinking. "Not gay, but nice enough." Talk about being damned with faint praise. "Nice enough"? Not "intriguing" or "sexy" or even "so kind-hearted"? So I asked my friend Andrew, who shares my interest in linguistics and therefore Klingon. Did he ever, for a moment, think I might be gay? "Well you do wear flat shoes," he replied, "But then again, your eyelashes are like a mile long, so I guess I didn't really think about it. Naw. I've seen you hit on too many guys at bars." So there you have it: I am a short woman in comfortable shoes striking out on Quiz Night. Maybe I should take my mother's advice and take a class in Klingon, so I can meet nice nerdy boys who can't tell what age I am, but are simply grateful to have someone to make the Mamma Wheeze's Chili Cheese Dip on D and D night.
Mamma Wheeze's Chili Cheese Dip is a hot dip made of the two simplest ingredients on earth, namely, a can of chili (no beans please) and a package of cream cheese, mixed together over low heat until hot. You can dump cheddar cheese on top if you must. I add some green onion and Tabasco for kick. Serve with corn chips--Fritos is the chip of tradition. For my dearest friends, I make this with my superb two-meat chili (again, no beans) and home made tortilla chips. This recipe came from a friend from my "Let's Study Chinese in China" days, which were amongst the worst in my life. The chappy who gave me the recipe could recite verbatim entire episodes of Star Trek (Original, Deep Space Nine, and Next Generation.) He got the recipe from his friend Weasel (known as the Wheeze) who lived in his mother's basement. When the gang came over to play whatever game young bright nerdy boys play, she would trot out a platter of her famous Chili Cheese Dip. Hence the name: Mamma Wheeze's Chili Cheese Dip. It was years before I could afford the ingredients, or find the ingredients, here in Beijing, but I served it semi-regularly back in the days when my nerdy friends came over to watch Star Trek. Not one ever hit on me: a lack of interest, perhaps, due to my footwear? Or my young daughter buzzing around them like a mosquito screaming in delight, "Do Worf again! Say it! Say it! 'Captain, I object, I am NOT a Merry Man!'" Well, since they don't read this blog (who does?) I will probably never know.
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