On the first day of school one of my boys asks me this …
“Should I wear my Kobes or my LeBrons?”
I have no idea what we’re talking about. It feels like a trick question, but he’s got a pretty serious look on his face. And so now I’m thinking maybe it’s code for “boxers or briefs?”
“Mom!” he barks, as he holds two sets of tennis shoes up to my face – that immediately makes me realize I’m killing bugs around here with the wrong shoes. My tiny heel’s got nothing on these suckers.
“I don’t know,” I shrug. “Wear the one that’s going to get you to the bus stop the fastest.”
And how nice for you – that you are able to put your foot into a famous athlete’s kicks and walk around in his shoes for a day. If I did that, I’d sure feel super fast, firm and flexible – not to mention financially fit. Maybe I should try that. Name my footwear after famous people …
My Jolie-Pitts would be a comfortable tennis shoe named after any mom who has six kids. It would deliver stability with flexibility, and a natural range of motion. Better yet, make that a natural range of E-motion.
My Thatchers would be a sturdy boot for the days that I need to rule with an iron fist – guaranteed to keep me steady and completely uncompromising in getting these kids to finish their homework and start helping me around the house. Also good for any day I want to command attention. Push my agenda. Or talk with an British accent.
My Oprahs would be that fabulous platform shoe that everybody clamors to see, and hoots and hollers over for years. But then moves to a different closet and doesn’t really get seen anymore. And then everybody forgets about it. But it was GREAT while it lasted.
My Taylor Swifts would be a skinny high heel that gets paired with every single outfit. And my Gwyneth Paltrows would be that pair of shoes that I unconsciously uncoupled and no longer matches.
My Nancy Graces would be a bold and brashy wedge, that I’d reserve for when I just have to jump in and insert myself. And my Hillary Clintons would be a soft shoe –- for those days when I just can’t decide if I should run.
I’d have to have a shoe named after myself, like all the pros do. They’d be appropriately called the TLCs – a comfortable Croc flip-flop that won’t let me go too fast – or too far – that hugs and cushions and says, “take it easy today, or you’ll rip the thong out.”
Regardless, I do think I’m on to something with the boxers and the briefs. Those athletes could make a killing selling underwear.