Sashay? Don't mind if I do

I have spent my whole life trying to understand what is meant by style.  The only way that I can express my relationship with it is to say simply that the notion persists in dodging me.  The word "fashion" makes my brow get all wrinkly and my mouth puckery; that word is even more frustrating than "style".  Would you believe that one of the ideas that I gave my daughters for a Christmas present was a color wheel, as if that somehow would help me when I'm standing in my closet any given morning, trying to put together an acceptable ensemble.

Be that as it may, every once in a great while I have a feeling (and it's not even that confident a feeling) that I've seized on the right combination.  This morning was one of those moments.  As I walked down the hallway to my classroom, I caught myself sashaying, and the realization made me smile stupidly.  Continuing to my door, my mental check came up with this:  I'm wearing a plaid, flannel oxford shirt, dress jeans and low-heel pumps.  Very uninspired look.  Hmmmmm. . .  Closer mental examination convinced me that it was the shoes.  Of COURSE it was the shoes!

I would be embarrassed to admit how many pairs of shoes I have ordered in the last year, ever searching for that perfect pair.  I finally had a winner and they made me feel GOOD!  Enough for me to sashay in an empty hallway early in the morning, the purposeful click of my heels echoing ahead of me.  Oh, I could feel good in my Tims walking down that same hallway, but I wouldn't have sashayed, and the next person could easily sashay in a pair of stilettos but I would have sawed off my feet by the time I arrived at my classroom if I were crazy enough to think that stilettos and I have any business working together.  So, at the end of the day, style will still artfully dodge me, but my toes will wiggle delightedly in my sensible Ros Hommerson's.