I had an oral argument in court on Friday morning and was running late, so I just pulled out from my closet the top-most box of shoes that resembled pumps. (I keep all of my shoes in boxes on my closet floor — a trick taught to me by my first real, born ‘n bred New Yorker friend as the best way to maximize closet space). Anyway, I haven’t been to court in a while and these turned out not to be my usual chunk-heeled Kenneth Coles, but a pair of three-inch stick-heeled Banana Republic pumps I bought in SoHo last year only because they were on extreme sale and I needed brown. Afraid as I was of embarrasing myself by wobbling, if not actually falling, in the courtroom on my way to the podium, I didn’t have time to dig more sensible shoes out from the pyramid, so I popped them on and fled. Amazingly, running to the subway I felt my posture actually improving — slight turn-out of hips elongating leg (in Latin turn-out is 45 not 8000 degrees!), shoulders down and back, abdominals tucked in and up — I didn’t feel the least unsteady. Once ensconsed on the subway seat, I thought about my newfound balance and figured it must be the evil latin shoes. Not only has trying so hard to dance in them apparently made me able to walk in the average stiletto, but a simple reminder of dance seems automatically to improve posture!
Funnily, I think I am begining to have a thing with Jonathan Roberts (previous entry) — while sitting in the courtroom waiting for my case to be called, I noticed that one of the appellate District Attorneys (our adversaries) looks just like him! Grrr…
Speaking of Ballroom, I took the first steps toward packing for Blackpool this weekend by digging my passport out of my “important papers” drawer. Actually, I took more than that; in an effort to avoid being lectured ad nauseam by my mom, who is a Planner (ie: literally packs weeks before a trip and is always nagging me, exactly the opposite and thus always having a nervous breakdown the night before), and took out a suitcase and started tossing in things I knew I’d need. Wrong. I have a ticket to the American Ballet Theater’s opening night gala tomorrow night and am sitting in nosebleed section, so just went to retrieve my opera glasses to put in my handbag. I looked and looked and looked; they were nowhere. I panicked — they were $80, I must have left them at the New York City Ballet on Friday night I thought, should I call the State Theater, no they only have a matinee on Sunday and must be closed and anyway someone probably just kept them… I frantically searched some more before finally realizing they were in my suitcase. Okay, no more “planning” — I’ll be waiting til Wednesday night, thank you very much!
