200. Red Shoes

(200!)

My mother has always been very brave about having a resolutely un-girly-girly daughter. She gave up her dream of having a sweet little girl she could put in pretty dresses and nice shoes when I was about four, I think, and then again when the third baby turned out a boy.

But there were a couple of years when I was too small to protest, so there are pictures of me with a bald head and sticky-out ears, dressed in exquisite little garments - and red shoes. And now, over thirty years later, I still have sticky-out ears - and red shoes.

(There are also pictures of me with curls, sticky-out ears, a pot belly, not much else - and red shoes. These were taken slightly later, when I had learned how to take the exquisite little garments off. No flies on me.)

Anyway. My little brain saw the red shoes, saw that they were good, and that was it - a preference was born. My mother does not wear red shoes, I notice. I'm just glad she chose red, and not black patent.
Can you imagine?