Curse of the fat feet

I was as excited as a schoolgirl. My manager had a pair of black Fluevogs that didn't fit her just right. My size.

They looked even prettier in person. A little narrow, but very pretty. I unbuckled them. And couldn't even get my foot in all the way. Foiled again by my fat feet!

A childhood of ugly shoes

I can remember from a young age, probably around kindergarten, my mom buying me shoes, bringing them home for me to try on, then returning them with me in tow so I could try something on in the store.

Inevitably, the shoes she tried to buy me were always much cuter than the ones we left with. I craved black patent leather Mary Janes, but ended up with sensible matte brown, in a leather that was sure to stretch if need be.

The shoes I coveted as a child.

Back in the 70s, kids with fat feet didn't get a lot of choice. You took what you were offered, and felt lucky that you weren't leaving with newspaper duct-taped to your feet.

Not like today. My son has been blessed with normal-width feet. Often, particularly when there's a sale on, I'm hard-pressed to find shoes that will fit him in a sea of EEEs.

It got (somewhat) better

By the time I hit grade 8, my feet were the same size as my mom's. I discovered that adults get more choices when it comes to footwear than the measly kids, even those with tubby toes.

An added bonus is by then, it was the 80s. Running shoes could be worn loosely laced. Flats had openings that often showed toe cleavage. Perfect for my feet!

As I grew into adulthood, I picked up the knack for being able to tell if a pair of shoes would fit by eyeballing them. Doesn't mean I wouldn't try a narrow pair on now and then, just in case.

The big lie

Sometimes I would even buy shoes that didn't feel right, buying the salesperson's lie that the shoes would stretch. It never happened, and I would wear the offending shoes with a wince a few times, then they would be banished to the back of my closet before being given away.

I now know that shoes can be stretched, by a professional, but only to a point. I mean, a shoe has only so much give.

Heartache again

Today, I'll admit, I knew the Fluevogs wouldn't fit when I looked at them. But I coveted them nonetheless. Alas, it just wasn't meant to be.

Torture by miniskirt

The tiny skirt that tortures me.
© kittelberg writes

I have a suede miniskirt in the depths of my closet that I haven't worn in about 13 years.

Every six months, I purge most unworn items from my closet. But there are a few I hang onto.

One is a long, beaded, velvet dress that belonged to my late mother-in-law. I have worn it once, to see The Nutcracker. Friends bought it for her during their travels overseas, perhaps in the Middle East, if memory serves me correctly. I will never part with it because of who it once belonged to. Besides, it fits me.

I also have a baby blue vintage nightgown set that I bought with the intention of wearing it for Halloween as the Bette Davis character in Whatever Happened to Baby Jane. Alas, plans changed and I never did wear the costume. But I swear I will one year!

The skirt that taunts me

The suede miniskirt is the only self-torture item I keep.

It's safe to say it will never fit me again. I bought it around the time George and I got married, thin from working out six days a week and strictly limiting my food intake. And I can honestly say I don't want to be that thin again, because it's a weight that my body clearly doesn't want to be at.

Several years ago, I decided I was okay with giving it to a friend, but it didn't fit any of them, a testament to how our bodies have changed since morphing into our 30s. Back into the closet it went.

Even if it did fit me now, it's hardly age appropriate. I'm not sure that with the right body I would feel comfortable in it.

Why I keep the skirt

Now weeks from the big 4-0, the skirt is still in my closet. It's the only piece of clothing I have that I keep for purely illogical reasons. It never belonged to a loved one. And there is no possible chance I will ever wear it again.

But I keep the skirt because:

• I bought it the year I got married.
• It reminds me of shopping in Kensington Market in T.O.
• It makes me smile to think of the fun I had the handful of times I wore it.
• Though it will never fit me again, it does give me some satisfaction to know it once did.

In other words, I keep it for purely sentimental reasons. But I know I'm not alone. My friend Sharon told me today that she has a pair of jeans she wore in her 20s.

What sentimental pieces of clothing do you have in your closet?