Yup. Those are shoes that my parents got bronzed when I was just a walking, talking chip off the old dysfunctional block. After I inherited them from my sister--the one affected by Only Child Syndrome--I placed them on my dining room hutch near the pewter candlesticks. Now they collect dust together. Naturally my sister kept her pair of booties and I assume they're catching dust somewhere in her house. I imagine she'll pass them down to one of her lucky kids, who will in turn put them on a shelf to collect dust. The pair are impossible to throw away--there must be some curse that befalls ungrateful children unwilling to properly revere family heirlooms--but no one quite knows what to do with them. Stick them in the bathroom? Maybe. They might pass for Odd Objets d"Art to note while on the Royal Throne. That would be one thought. Or how about pawning them off on my husband. He could decorate his office with them. They would join the approximately 2,000 other tchochkes (Google defines this term as decorative rather than functional objects) presently cluttering his office space. The husband has a problem with collecting (or hoarding) stuff, and it borders on the pathological, but he's in denial about it. So am I because I don't need another "crazy" in the family. One is already too much.
I have an additional problem with using my pair of metallic beauties--no, no, I don't mean my boobs; I'm still talking about the shoes. I have no one to hand them down to. That's right; I'm childless or childfree depending on which side of the bed you got up on today. So I've been brainstorming what I could do with my shoes besides the obvious one of handing them over to some antique/consignment dealer. One idea is to hold a garage sale and try to peddle them as paper weights or planters. Or, I could make one of the dogs wear them for a millisecond and put the photo or video up on youtube or instagram or some such social media venue. Maybe that would get me my 15 seconds of fame. I don't know if that qualifies. Another possibility is to misrepresent them entirely, as in lie and deceive. I could get some bogus authentication documents off the Internet (you know the kind that tell people you graduated such and such prestigious university or that your pet tarantula is a service critter). I could then tell people they are Trump's baby shoes when he was just a wittle wee tycoon and willing to settle for bronze instead of gold plate. How much do you think they would fetch on E-Bay? I'd be willing to donate whatever I got to the National Fund for Getting Rid of Elected Idiots.
So what's your idea? I'm open to suggestions.
They say it's the little things in life that destroy marriages: he doesn't lower the toilet seat; she never listens to his work anecdotes; he eats with his fingers; she never can find her car keys. The same adage applies to self image or self concept. It's the little things that can build or destroy egos. Although my parents had baby names for me that they used at times--for example, "cookie" and "pussycat," these never morphed into appropriate adult nick names. For instance, no one in my house ever called me Jan. That would have been the most common and appropriate nickname for "Janice," but no one ever came up with it. Was it a severe lack of creativity? I don't think so. In hindsight it said more about parenting style than it did about their opinion of me. My parents ran a rather strict household. We laughed but it was either behind the parents' backs or at a time when my father decreed a joke or anecdote was funny. My point is tha
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