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Lifetime first: a male flight attendant just complimented my shoes. This is remarkable because I am not, and have never been, stylish. Unless stylish is a haircut designed to hide bed-head, a college-long commitment to coveralls, and an adulthood wondering why I’m always the youngest person in Chico’s (in my defense, I travel for work and their clothes are seriously comfortable. Not that I’m defensive or anything.)
To round out the excellence, the shoes were also complimented by none other than my dear brother, who is funny and kind and who recognizes the rocking of board shorts as appropriate for most occasions but who is not, shall we say, attuned to finery.
I am allowing myself to conclude that the universe, from the parts with a serious aversion to shirts (brother), to the parts who smell better than I ever thought possible (flight attendant), loves my shoes.
The shoes are soft brown ballet flats with an orange stretchy band around the whole foot. They have a laughably large toe bangle that is gold and orange metal, and they make me feel very special. In a my-shoes-are-orange kind of way. Which is the best way.

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