Something Borrowed...

Even in the skewed world defined by Baroness logic, it would seem only logical that when one has a love of sole like I do, one must hoof themselves over, posthaste, to the local shoe display building.

Which is what I did at the Bata Shoe Museum in Toronto:

I am so proud of this picture-takin': such perfect composition - me, 'Canada' shaped like a shoeprint, a lingering police car in case things get out of hand...

Here are some of things that I learned while strolling the leather-scented exhibits:

1. When one suffers for foot beauty like this:

These make my silver snakeskin stilettos look like broken-in Uggs

one would be better off just going commando:

Thought Bubble:
"Sure, I may have some facial hair issues and a muffin top, but by god, are my feet comfortable."

2. Although quilled and beaded mocassins like this:

are exquisite, according to a fascinating video I watched, the bead:saliva ratio is about 50/50. Ewww.

3. Historically, group shopping for shoes may have once been a man's domain:

Buyer: "What about a 9 and 1/2? Does it come in half sizes? What about more of an ox-blood color? You got that in stock?"

Vendor (to self): "If he asks for the "Puss In Boots" special one more time, I swear I will gut him with a shoehorn..."

4. Elvis' blue suede shoes are not completely blue nor suede:

and appear to maybe have been stepped on a time or two.

5. The Bata Shoe Museum may have been duped by a flim flam flip flop peddlar. The museum alleges that these:
...are Rudolf Nuryev's ballet slippers. I'm sorry, but I'm going to have to call bullsh*t. Because I saw a full frontal photo of Nuryev (or shall I say, "Neigggggggh-urrrr-ee-vv") at the Avedon Photo Exhibit in San Diego this past summer, and there is no way that these teeny tiny Capezios could be his.

Now, this cowboy boot might be more like it:

Note that the boots to the left are probably about a standard Men's Size 10

And the final thing I learned is this:

6. There is hope for my dog yet.

Dogs in shoes.
Funny.

Culling the Leopard Population

As you know, the Baroness has many loves.

Ranking high near the top of the list?

Exhibit A:Leopard skin

This is not me, but I love every single
element of the outfit.
And I do honk on the bobo.

Second on the list?

Exhibit B: Eavesdropping

Again, not me.
But I have been known to also wear
a tablecloth on occasion.

At first glance, it would appear as though these two things have nothing in common. But oh ho! Do they ever.

This past weekend, I was making my usual daily rounds. Well, not really. I was actually making the morning rounds that the Baron has foisted upon me whilst he is afield. Not that I mind. In fact, I quite love it (that's for you, honey). This love, though is nearer the bottom of the list.

As I was coming out of the grocery store, a vision in leopardskin caught my eye, like a blazing beacon of fierceness in the fog of neutrality. Because The Baroness is always on the lookout for how the leopardskin is worked.

And I am most fascinated when it's not just an accessory, but a head-to-toe fashion extravaganza.

And I am over-the-moon ecstatic when the said ensemble is worn, by not a hoochie mama selling her wares in the parking lot but by a senior citizen.

Granny a go-go, baby! It gives me hope and inspiration to see that someone has not relinquished her elan, her joie de vivre once the meter clicks over to 70 years of age (give or take 10 years).

So, there she stands with her coiffed hair, and her stunning ensemble, talking to another older woman, who herself is wearing something darling: that deer-in-the-headlights look. Because this woman has mistakenly asked the Feline Goddess "How are you feeling?". I mean - really.

Where was this woman (whom we will now call DIL) when they were distributing the Senior's Handbook? It's right there on the list of Don'ts. Numero Uno: Don't ask a senior how they're feeling, if you don't want to know, and if you don't care to hear the subsequent tangential thinking that will occur.

The Leopard Lady (LL) starts to rattle off her various ailments (I guess she starts at the head and works her way down...). I, eavesdropper extraordinare, breeze by to return my cart as she gets to the knees. LL says that her osteo-arthritis is acting up, and she's probably be going in for a knee replacement soon. DIH coos and makes appropriate sympathy noises.

As LL goes on and on about all the things she's unable to do, I can't help but quickly check out the her footwear, because - oh yeah, Baroness' Love #1:

Exhibit C: Shoes

LL was not wearing Loubs. Sad, really.

Shoehorned onto her teeny-tiny feet at the bottom of her roly-poly body were a pair of 3 inch heels. Helloo? Sweetheart? Do you think, with all of your years of accumulated wisdom, that you could possibly put 2 and 2 together, and realize that this could be partly to blame for your knee issues? That, and the fact that your Center of Gravity closed for business in about 1983. And you're kind of swaying like a sapling in a windstorm.

So much anxiety overcame me, so many accident scenarios danced through my head that I had to bravely avert my eyes from the magnetic draw of leopard skin and walk away. The potential for imminent disaster was too much for me.

It was like a National Geographic special, where the hyenas are circling and laughing , and hope as you might that the weak will prevail, you know the outcome is not going to be favorable. I just couldn't watch anymore.

I know you can't run because of your sore knees. But for goodness sake, Leopard Lady, at least change your shoes so you can walk a little faster.

Worth a 1000 Words (at least)

Sshhhh. The Baroness has a little secret. Come closer to the monitor and I'll tell you. Here it is:

I'm a little lacking in the inspiration department lately.

As of late, to try and kickstart my wee little brain, I have been trying out some "theme" days. I know, I know. A creative crutch - but there you have it. I would choose to limp along than not walk at all. Thoughtful Thursday, How About That? on Saturdays. I've even started to dabble in Teacher Tuesdays. And let me tell you something - the two teachers I write about today have taught me more about life, character, values and relationships in their combined 33 years than I could ever have learned in my own 46 on the planet.

Those of you who have been visiting here for a while know that the Baroness is not one to usually use visual aids. They are not on the agenda; not my bag, man. I would much rather paint a picture in your mind's eye (I'll be careful; I know that the paintbrush could damage your cornea). I'd rather use words. Lots and lots and lots of words. But, after a rather strange and irksome dinner conversation with Duke 1 and Duke 2 recently, I thought it would be vastly more illustrative if I approached this subject in a different way. Here goes:

Most every day of the week, I look something like this:

This is not me, by the way
(although I wish I was on a beach somewhere...)

Yoga pants, a t-shirt, runners, a down-filled vest in winter. Pretty crunchy granola. If I have to be somewhere and have my game face on, I'll choose something like this:

Again, not me - but I do have these shoes (fierce- raWHr!)

To summarize where we are thus far. I'm either in yoga pants, or jeans. Nothing extraordinary, nothing particulary fashion forward. If I need to get my girly girl going on, I would choose something fairly classic, like one of these:

Yet my two beautiful sons somehow believe that every time I leave the house, I look like this:

(I am not, nor I have I ever been married to IceT)
(although I like to drink iced tea now and again...)

And they've told me that they would prefer that I look like this:

(check out the mismatched leggings - edgy!)

And act like this:





Or did they say I should look like this:




And act like this?

(note the fine crafting of the crocheted apron - I could definitely rock this...)

I really can't remember. I was kind of not listening - I was thinking about these:

(Mmmmmmmmmm.)

Maybe they're not such great teachers after all.