Don't Let Your Friends Say, You Have No Taste, Go Ahead And Marry Anyway

--"If You Wanna Be Happy", Jimmy Soul

I accidentally left a pair of my running shoes outside a few months back. When I woke up the next morning for my run they were completely water-logged. Hell's bells, I thought. If there's one thing I hate worse than not being able to run one day, it's not being able to go for my jog two days in a row. As my daddy says, "Leaving the fence open overnight is an accident; leaving it open all day is stupidity." Little 'ole me may be a sight many things, but one thing I'm not is stupid. I immediately called up Fanny to go shoe shopping with me.

"Don't you already have eighty-three pairs, Breasy?"

"No. Are you going to come with me or not?"

"I don't know about all that. If it's that important..."

"Please, thank you."

"Dinner after?"

"If you want..."

"Done."

When we arrived at the department store, it didn't take me long to find a pair which exactly matched my previous pair. I tend to go for white sneakers with orange frills (naturally) and almost without exception I get the same style of Reebok's that I've been buying for the last five years. Greg likes them. He says they look cute on me, which was one reason I bought them. The other reason I wanted to buy them is to gauge how much attention he actually pays to what I wear. A wicked trick, I know, but you've got to get your face wet to go swimming. I wouldn't have questioned him on them, but it always make me feel better when my husband asks, "new hairstyle?" or "did you buy a new purse?" It always feel good when you feel like somebody's paying attention to you. I miss that sometimes about dating, the feeling that somebody is noticing you for the first time.

Fanny and I were standing in line, waiting to ring up, when an woman in her early fifties maybe came up behind us in line. She had in her hands a nice, plain pair of pumps--serviceable, but nothing what I'd choose for myself. I gave her a brief smile when she walked up, but for the most part I didn't think much of her. I settled into talking with Fanny once more for the next few seconds, gabbing about this and that, when we were interrupted by the lady asking a question.

"What do you ladies think of these shoes?"

"They're nice," Fanny said.

When it came to my turn I told her, "They're alright, darling, but they aren't exactly my cup of tea."

"Oh really?"

"Yeah, not my style," I added.

I knew my next move wouldn't win me any points with Fanny, who was already in a rush to go to dinner, but my mother raised me to be a certain way when it's obvious someone needs your assistance. I can only be little 'ole me--no more, no less. "I could help you look if that's alright with you."

"That would be splendid," she beamed. "I'm so lost when it comes to these things now."

She wasn't that old, considering. She's what my mother would have called just out of sociable age--not quite to the age of retiring, but old enough to beg off being out and about. By the look of her she was still very active, still very spry. The years had been very kind to her for beyond the harried look of someone out of their depth lay someone still attractive enough for other people to notice and still strong-willed enough to have not resigned herself to meekness. She wasn't feeble by any stretch of the imagination. What she was was confused and willing to work past her confusion.

It turns out that the lady, Miss Abigail, was getting married for the first time in her life. She was nervous about putting together an outfit to come out in. It was going to be a small ceremony, but she still "wanted to look nice." I smiled the entire time I helped her look for the shoes. Even at fifty-four she sound every bit the frantic bride; even at fifty-four she sounded every bit the teenager in the first stages of true love. The optimism and excitement in her voice the more she spoke about her intended was infectious. She even brought Fanny around to helping out. It didn't take us more than twenty minutes to discover shoes in her price range that were both stylish and noticeable. That was one of the first criteria I insisted she keep in mind when we went looking. You're the bride, I told her, you want people to stand up and pay attention to every detail of how you look. You should shine up there.

She was already worried about people talking about her getting married so late. She had wanted to make it even more small-scale than what they decided on. She basically was in a tizzy over making a huge bonfire what she thought was only a small candle. She didn't need the big, fancy wedding she said. For her the fact she had found somebody to take care of her, to love her, and to be her constant companion was enough. All the rest she told me was utter foolishness. That's when I laughed and told her that every lady worth her salt deserves a fancy wedding. The great Lord above saw fit to bless us with love, I repeated, and it's only fitting we share that gift with as many people as possible. It's only right. She started feeling better, more relaxed about all the help we were giving her after that. I truly believe she started to accept the fact all of it, all the attention and all the hoopla, were for her. I reckon she started to see that her and her wedding were a big deal. As well they should be.

Twenty minutes turned into an hour-and-a-half as the altruistic streak in me kicked in. We helped her shop for a new dress for the rehearsal dinner. We helped her shop for a beautiful necklace to go with it. Not to mention we gave her advice about what it would be like on the big day, another concern of hers. I told her that there'll be problems and a lot she couldn't control, but most of all everything was going to be alright. The most important about the wedding is who you show up with, sugar, I told her.

After it was all said and done, we really made her into the late-blooming flower she was. We really did have her looking the refined woman of age that she was, but we had her believing she could pull the whole look off when it came time. In the end, I think she was feeling far more confident than she had been going into the store. As for me, I felt truly blessed I was there for her in much the same way my mother was there for me. Bless her heart, but Miss Abigail's mother had already passed. If she had been there I have no doubt that she would have given her daughter much the same advice.

I also felt good because it was a sight to see real love hit somebody so late in the game, or at least in the later innings. I had about twenty years on her, you know? And there I was worried about my husband slowly losing touch what I looked like or who I was. There I was worried that I had to go out of my way to make sure he was seeing all of me. I realized that whether or not he noticed a new pair of shoes or that my right dimple had grown deeper with age, Greg is always going to see me. He's always going to see me for me because he's always going to love me. Love isn't something that happens when you're young and it isn't something that somehow fades with age. It's something that begins anew and blossoms again and again once you've found it. Love is something that can strike with equal ferocity when it's first born or when it's been put through its paces.

True love is like shopping for new clothes. As long as you never stop looking you'll never stop finding something new that's perfect for you.

Breanne