A Comfortable Pair Of Shoes

"Wine?" I said, as I poured myself another.

She nodded, wisely remaining silent.

I poured a glass, handed it to her, sat back down.

"Give me a second to get comfortable, I love fairy tales. They tend to put me to sleep, though, so if I nod off, forgive me."

She quivered, a sharp retort on her lips, before reason kicked in.

"Honey, you know I love you, right?"

She paused for my response, when I said nothing she continued.

"I'm sorry. Peter was...a mistake. But we're done, I told him so when I left."

"I'm sorry. Maybe you'll do better with your next one."

Her temper surfaced.

"Really, Shane! You're not helping here."

I laughed.

"I'm sorry. I didn't know I was supposed to help. Help you what? Find another lover? There are a few guys around the office that might be interested, but most of them have pretty high standards. Maybe we could get your nude photos back from Peter, and I could show them the goods. I could do a testimonial, you're pretty good when you want to be. Think that might work?"

She went pale, wondering how much I really knew. It was pretty dense, in my opinion, letting you lover make nude glamor shots of you.

"Please stop being mean to me."

"Tell you what. I will if you just tell me why. Why, knowing what you could lose, would you be that stupid?"

"I don't know why, exactly. Let me try to give you an example. You know that pair of Nike running shoes I've had for years? They're past their prime, pretty much worn out. But they feel so good on my feet I can't stand the thought of giving them up. That's what my love for you is like. Solid, comfortable, I'll never give you up."

"Then you see a pair of red four inch heels in a shop window. You know they're not practical, they'll probably hurt your feet if you wear them too long, But you know you'll look and feel sexy in them for a little while. Those shoes were Peter, fun for awhile, but I couldn't wear them everyday. Do you understand, honey? It was just a fling, tottering on those heels for a little bit, knowing you could go home and slip into something that made you feel good. Do you understand?"

I stood.

"I think I do. Thank you for explaining it to me." I walked to the hall closet and got my jacket.

She followed me.

"The you understand? You're not throwing me out tonight?"

"No. My lawyer says I can't make you leave until the papers are served, and even then I'm expected to give you a reasonable time to remove your things. He suggested two weeks. So you're probably good for two and a half, maybe three weeks. Can't sleep with me though. I'll be a gentleman, and move into the spare bedroom, I know how much you enjoy that custom shower you had me install."

Her mouth was hanging open. I continued.

"Tell you what, if you don't make a fuss, I'll help you find a nice apartment, make the deposits, turn everything on and pay the bills for three months. You make decent money, but you've never really had to pay bills, so I'll help you make a budget. You probably won't have anything left over for spa visits, expensive lunches, or shopping sprees. But if you brown bag a couple days a week you can afford a night out every two weeks or so. I'll even find you a decent used car, but you'll be responsible for the insurance. Take it or not, it's up to you, but in any case, you're gone."

I reached in the hall closet and pulled out my favorite black felt fedora. It was vintage, straight out of the sixties. I had a great uncle who never left the house without one, and when he passed he left all his hats, thirty one, all in great condition and stored in the original box, to me. They fit me perfectly. I got them at a time when they were just coming back into style. I thought I looked good in them. So did a lot of ladies at my office. My darling wife said I looked silly in them. I set the angle just right and opened the door.

She was still trying to process what I'd said.

"We need to keep talking, try to work this out. It's ten, where in the world are you going>

I eased her hand off my arm.

"Shoe shopping. I think I'll look at something young and athletic, or maybe I'll go for the class of Italian leather. If I can afford it, maybe I'll get both. Don't wait up."

I laughed as I drove away, knowing she would be hitting speed dial. It would ring, she should hear it clearly, lying there on the kitchen counter.

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In the end, I got both in one package. She would leave me in the dust when we ran 5ks, and dance me into a quivering mass in her six inch heels. Two years older, looking ten years younger, she was smart, sexy, a plain spoken, non game playing

goddess. I worshipped the ground she walked on.

She bought me hats on my birthday and anniversaries. I have over fifty now.

Gwen tried to fight it, but when her lawyer looked at the prenupt, he urged her strongly to take my offer. I didn't want her Mercedes, so I sold it, took half the money, and bought her a four year old small Chevy. She actually thanked me.

She married a couple years later, and as far as I know, we don't travel in the same social circles anymore, they seem happy. I know she was in therapy for quite a while.

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A funny story. I actually went to court when my divorce was finalized, even though my lawyer said it wasn't necessary. Ran into the judge who handled my first attempt and ordered us into counseling. She was just an ordinary citizen now, having lost by a landslide. She was there for her second divorce. I almost got cited for contempt because I couldn't stop laughing.

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An old one I found when I was cleaning up my computer. Thanks for reading.

Q