...Because the Quimby's celebrate a woman's singlehood, mmmhmm.
The King is not one to settle. No, he showed refined taste as Winifred suggested various options, which were too bland, not red, not bright, not Captain, unable to balance on a skateboard, too flimsy, incapable of allowing flight, etc. A pair surfaced, not red, but sturdy and most decidedly Captain in its prominent use of plaid (and its name "BEAR KITTY") wad especially fitting.
The streets in the city grew wet the following weeks, and running after a train and a bus through puddles and over hills, slogging through damp detritus, and parading around a sullen town seemed inappropriate for the inaugural outing of shoes that were purchased for that very use.
So they lived under my desk until yesterday, when suddenly everything went seemingly right.
We celebrate Three King's Day in Winifred's C + E Catholicism, the results of which yielded a batch of carrot cupcakes and fluffy cream cheese icing. Inside Winifred baked a small, round blue stone, which I received in my cake, theoretically promising a year of good luck. ("A Red Letter Year," I sleepily mumbled on the return trip to Baltimore.) Offline I am not a believe in superstition but...it was either the cake or the shoes. I thought I'd see what happened when I wore other shoes in the printmaking studio.
You know where this is going from the subject, don't you? Everything went horribly awry. Far past so-bad-it's-funny-years-from-now. I'll be bitter when I'm 82 about January 8, 2008. Long after everything went wrong, I accidentally sent my fingers through a printmaking press. They didn't break, but my spirit did, and I bounced from grumpy to near-yarking/sobbing through the rest of the day.
Winifred made me promise to slowly back away from the keyboard, find a couch or bed and TV remote, and reconnect with an ice pack. I did, and later, I reconnected with Chipotle's burritos with carnitas sour cream, rice, corn, and salsa. She also said to wear The Shoes.
Later, to show her camaraderie, Winifred dropped a steak knife, slicing a sizable gash in her foot. The King bandaged her, and I hope, dried her tears. He used Band-Aid brand big band aids, not that sticky stuff from Target that gives me hives, and is probably looking into steel enforced house slippers.
Tomorrow I'm wearing The Shoes to class; if disaster befalls, I'll probably have to wait for another six years before I get another Red Letter Day; either way I'm owed a crown for my Epiphany win, Winifred. That's what Wikipedia says. In return I'll host Candelaria Day next month and serve whiskey. Unless you were dying for Atole?
(Thankfully I already started to type this post last night. Instead of nothing you get a 2-for-1 special!)