Cinderella

We picked up a bunch of VHS tapes of Disney movies at garage sales lately. What a score! It seems that we're the only family left in West Seattle with a VCR, but hey, that works for me. I love that I can pop in "Babe" or "The Lion King" or "Mary Poppins" at a moment's notice and have my daughter transfixed for a few golden moments while I do something like, say, go eat some Lorna Doone cookies.

That damned Lorna Doone! She's always in my thoughts lately, with her buttery shortbread goodness and instant hit of comfort to my stoic Scottish soul. If I don't slow down with her I may well exceed my 2-8 pounds' allotted weight gain in the first trimester which, honestly, I do not need to do this time around. Dammit! She's the best thing going since the Girl Scouts went away with their Trefoils last spring, though. Maybe I've accidentally discovered that hydrogenated cottonseed oil is the cure for nausea.

And Disney movies for me are a good way to make those big fat pregnancy tears fall down my cookie crumb-dusted cheeks. Good Lord - the opening sequence of "Lion King" never fails to leave me bawling. All that stuff about the zebras and the elephants (oh God, the elephants - one look at an elephant, especially a Disney-animated one, and I am a mess) and the circle of life makes me just whimper with joy and angst for the plight of those fictional animals.

This morning we watched a little bit of "Cinderella." The angry feminist in me was dreading the moment my daughter laid eyes on this film, the ruin of all girls' ideas about success and happiness in life, right? But oh, what a story! The ultimate makeover movie, really - Cinderella and that fairy godmother of hers sure showed those bitchy stepsisters who was really hot. And oh yeah - she gets the prince, too. I think there is some good to this story, if you really watch the movie again. There is nothing wrong with really, really wanting to go to a super-fun party at the big castle and looking awesome. And it's not as if Cinderella is some total dunce in the meantime. She does talk to the animals, after all (you don't just learn that overnight!), and she's taught herself how to sing very well and seems to have very good manners and a positive outlook in spite of her circumstances. She deserves to have a great time once in a while, I think. So she is the prettiest one at the ball - someone has to be! Are we always going to hate that girl, or are we going to applaud her for getting her whole package together quite well? I say congrats, Cindy! You're a gem!

This brings me to my own love life. Or my married love life. I believe that, ultimately, I have been very lucky in love. This is why it is also difficult for me to be so cynical about love stories. I dated a lot of guys before I met my husband. I was "trying on" lots of different styles of guys. Wait - that doesn't sound right. I was trying out different personas, perhaps, through the guys I dated. Which I'm not sure says a lot about my aspirations for myself in my early twenties. I dated mostly cooks and musicians (bassists), though there were one or two trust fund babies thrown in there so I could get some cool jewelry and nice dinners out. Let's be honest. I dated a black guy who was way into Steely Dan - very strange. The last guy I dated was an ex-Marine who had a rockin' bod and was a yummy mixture of Portugese, Japanese, and Puerto Rican, but was also, as it turned out, a great big homophobe. So that was it for him - yuck.

And then I met the one. I will spare you the details (people really should more often about these sorts of things, I think), but the bottom line is that we clicked. Just like I had always heard it was supposed to happen. I started talking to him, and he was talking, too, and we were listening intently to one another and we didn't want the conversation to end. We must have had about fifteen cups of coffee between us on that day, and he kept getting up to pee about every five minutes. He wore a silly trucker's cap on top of his head and his jeans sagging down his bottom and he was somewhat tattooed (enough that my dad, who answered the door, kept looking at me sideways and swallowing like he was either going to cry or crack up). He smoked the same cigarettes as I did and thought I was very interesting, and more importantly, he remembered what I said and thought about it and commented on it at a later time. It honestly was like I had always known him.

There were many hurdles to get over, not the least of which were law school in another city for me, the bar exam, and his penchant for late nights of role-playing video games with his geek-o friends. But we always came back to each other, because we always had to. For me it was like finding a long-lost close family member - you say, "Oh! This is the part of my heart that has been missing all along, even though I didn't know it was missing!" I love my husband with all of my heart. He is my heart. And the two babies we have made are my heart too. I never knew I could have so much love, and it only feels like there is more to come.

Next week my husband and I celebrate four years of marriage. I want you to know, love, that you're never getting rid of me. I have settled into this with you and it feels right as rain and you're it. You make me so happy and so sad and you make me just live my life to its fullest. Thank you for all of your gifts to me - I only hope I can share half as many with you. I love you!

Contact Mama's Purse

You can now email Mama's Purse at mamaspurse@gmail.com

Condos

My daughter knows the word "condo" now. It's because her mama and daddy talk about the condos constantly, and tsk-tsk the development up and down California each time we travel that way. We are house snobs now - we have the luxury of owning our own home on our own property, and even have a yard where our dogs can run around. I don't know that we have all that much against condos or townhomes, really. We just don't like the way THESE condos around here are shaping up, for the most part. They seem to be getting slapped up without much regard for the history and future of our community; they are unabashed symbols of capitalism. They are land-hogs, stretching their structures all the way out to their property lines, and all the way up to their coded height limits. They make me feel yucky. And P.S., What kind of people are going to live there? That also makes me nervous. And don't go telling me this is "affordable housing." These places are starting around $4-500K. So it's not going to be friendly, middle-class families who just want to live in a nice community. It's going to be single-ish, couple-ish upper-class-ish people who are choosing to spend their money to live someplace tacky, a.k.a. TACKY PEOPLE. Ugh.

I am not sad that structures like the burned-out Schuck's or the nasty Hancock Fabrics building (hey - isn't that also a Schuck's?) are getting torn down and revamped for mixed retail and living spaces. I just want to see more consideration taken for the values of the community when the new structures are designed. I have learned (and please correct me if this is inaccurate) that according to city restrictions, developers constructing buildings with eight townhomes/condos or less in this area do not have to go through any sort of community design review process prior to initiation of their projects. Ever notice that a lot of these places going up, particularly the really generic, disheartening ones, are exactly eight townhomes big?

Now onto the subject of Whole Foods. Honestly I have mixed feelings about this whole thing, though I'm not exactly sure how this is really going to affect me because I shop mostly at Safeway and Fred Meyer and WinCo (do you know about WinCo? An amazing place! I will save this topic for an entire post!), and generally more cheaply and inorganically. I know, I know - I should buy organic, blah blah blah, especially now that I am pregnant. But find me a store that sells organic for only slightly more than regular price, and washes off the dirt for me (why does it always have to be so dirty? I still believe it's organic without seeing the soil still on the leaves!) and I will go running with my hemp bag to load up. Ha ha. Until that time, it will be me with all the other rag-tags in our sweatpants at the Safeway, buying our non-dirty produce and discount meats. Not to mention the human drama that unfolds each time I shop there. Yesterday I saw a guy in the Safeway wearing a t-shirt that said "Hola Bitchola," shopping right next to a little old lady who had been bussed in from the nearby rest home. They smiled pleasantly at each other. Now, tell me when I would see that at PCC!

Sure, I love to go to Whole Foods occasionally when I visit Portland, and look at all of the gorgeous fruit stacked up perfectly, the tantalizing sausages in the meat case, the amazing fish section. I love to go to the cheese section when I have a little dinner party, and try fourteen samples of fresh cheese from all over the world before I pick one. And I love to look at all of the lovely desserts and the prepared foods section to get a little snack and lots of ideas for what I might whip up at home. It's a beautiful experience, really. And cheers to all those people who can do their weekly shopping there, buying bags and bags full of that awesome produce and meat and 360 brand rice cakes and bottled water and flax seed oil. You will probably go to heaven for filling your bodies with only the freshest, purest foods. But I do not believe that most of us can shop there like this. So I guess I wonder how these three stores - Whole Foods, Metropolitan Market, and PCC - are all going to survive in our little old neighborhood. I would hate to see Metropolitan Market have to leave West Seattle, for example, as I feel this is a wonderful, local community-minded business (although I do very little shopping there, either. It is a great place to get the occasional coffee, though! And of course the samples. And it's a good place to see some West Seattle gays.).

So, we shall see. Happy Friday, by the way!

On Houseguests

I had houseguests all weekend long until yesterday morning. First my younger sister came to stay, which is something of a treat. She is generally a good houseguest and loves to spend time with her niece, although lately she makes me a bit nervous as she is constantly "cleaning" my house while she is here. I'm not sure why this is, but I suspect it has something to do with the whole sister-competition thing and is a passive-aggressive way of letting me know my house is somehow not up to snuff. No, it is not "helpful" but rather distressing to the hostess when your houseguest gets out the Clorox spray and begins disinfecting the bathroom and the area around the dog bowls. As a guest, I believe a balance must be struck between being respectful and keeping your room tidy and not leaving your bowls and glasses around the house - perhaps even clearing the table and offering to do the dishes one night - and actually taking on the role of housekeeper, taking out the garbage and doing laundry and scrubbing the floor on your hands and knees. In my opinion, you as a guest have a duty to let the host/hostess know with all of your might that you greatly appreciate being invited to stay in their lovely home, you find it most relaxing, and is there anything you can do to help maintain the loveliness that surrounds you. You should behave as though nothing needs improving, and certainly does not need deep, disinfectant cleaning.

Then my mom came up from Portland and stayed for one night while my sister was here. I love my mom. She is a good houseguest, too. I especially love that she goes and takes a nap in the afternoon when she is here. That's a good thing, all you guests. It is important to initiate some "off" time while you are staying in someone's home. Particularly someone who is newly pregnant and feels perpetually as if they could just crawl under a table and sleep for three days. Give your hostess a break from hostessing once in a while.

Of course, there are things that bug me about my mom, too. For one thing, she seems to always only stay for one night. She does work full-time still and has things at home that she has to take care of like we all do, but this is kind of a strange feeling. My husband jokes with her that she's afraid she'll turn into a pumpkin if she stays here longer than 24 hours, and there is always that awkward chuckle after this comment. Because it's true, I guess. The thing is, she's just like me. She's a Taurus. She knows she loves her daughter and her daughter's husband and above all, her precious granddaughter, and she wants to come up to Seattle from time to time to pay a visit, but God forbid she be taken out of her element - out of her home, her nest - for more than a little while. She starts getting itchy, and she "really needs" to get home to do things like sort out the boxes in the basement that have been sitting there for thirty years. So, it bugs me because it is all too close to home, I suppose. It is interesting, though, because she cries really hard when it's time to leave us. She probably wants to bring us all home with her to always have around her. I guess my sister would be in charge of all the cleaning in that case.

Then an old childhood friend from Portland came to visit, starting on Monday. This houseguest will not likely be invited to stay again anytime soon, as she violated many of of the rules of houseguesting, and generally pissed me off. #1: She called me at the last minute to say that she was coming up with a friend (who I do not know) and she guessed they would have to stay at the youth hostel, unless I could possibly spare them a room. Of course I will say of course you should come and stay with us. What else can I say? #2: Said friend of friend would be attending a real estate conference on Monday and Tuesday, and old friend would like to just "hang out" with me and "do whatever." All day long? What about events in my schedule? #3: Houseguests were going to just need to spend Monday night, and leave Tuesday after conference got out, but oh, actually, come Tuesday morning, would it be okay if they just stayed one more night? Um, NO! But of course, "Sure!" #4: Old friend is newly pregnant as well, for the first time, and has extreme morning (read: "all-day") sickness which involves frequent vomiting and inability to eat or even look at regular foods at regular mealtimes, to go for a walk, or even to just be. This makes you an extremely high-maintenance houseguest, and someone who should not be a houseguest unless it is some kind of emergency. This was not. #5: Old friend (this is fast-becoming an inappropriate title for this individual) leaves dishes, silverware, food wrappers and large clumps of hair all around my house, poo-poo track marks in the toilet bowl, every single light on in her guest room all the time, and her bed unmade with the door wide open. Needless to say, on Tuesday night, when she and her friend were telling me that they'd like to spend Wednesday "just hanging out and doing stuff," I told them that actually I had a list of very important appointments for Wednesday so I couldn't join them and that everyone needed to be out of the house by 9am. At 9am, we all left the house, I locked the door and said good-bye, then I drove around the neighborhood with my daughter and came back a few minutes later to my sweet empty house where we both fell down and took a good long nap.

Maybe I am hard on my houseguests. Or I shouldn't be so critical of people who I myself have invited to stay. Well, my sister and my parents are givens. They can come and stay no matter how much they bug me, because they are my family and we're stuck with each other. But I do find that having non-family people come to stay is a good way to figure out who you really desire to have in your life. This friend was a lot of fun when we were little girls - she was adventurous and always up for whatever mischief I wanted to get into. But this weekend sealed for me that she has grown into a woman who missed a good portion of the lesson on manners and selflessness. She is a kind enough person, and I'm sure she will make a perfectly fine mother. But when someone lacks the ability to conduct themself as a houseguest with grace and some humility (yes, even when they are feeling ill), I feel that I simply don't have the time or energy to deal with that person any longer. And these days, I will not.

Blech

Okay, maybe this early pregnancy not-feeling-so-hot thing was not just a passing thing, and I am not actually a pregnancy goddess, immune to bouts of nausea and gas and general grossness. I feel yucky again today. All I want to do is sit around and drink Sprite with ice. My sister is visiting and we went to Kokoras Grill for dinner (so good!) and all I could do was pick at my salad and try not to look at the ceiling fans for fear of getting dizzy and passing out.

It could have been the Nordstrom sale that did me in, too. I am a bit ashamed to say that I really hardly ever go downtown, so when I venture off of my peninsula for an event so massive as the Anniversary Sale at the flagship store, it is almost too much. Almost. Of course it was an absolute zoo. The women's shoe department looked like a war zone, people were running here and there and up and down the escalators with random clothing and accessory items. I took a number in the kids' shoes department, and waited fifteen minutes for the saleslady to even tell me that they didn't have my daughter's size in the shoe I wanted to get for her. But you know what? I loved every minute of it. I stood there in that great mob and my heart was beating hard and I grabbed at a green Juicy Couture track suit just because everyone else was and held it up to myself for a moment, and my daughter was at the sitter's so I could just look and look and hold pieces of clothing together and see if they made sense, and just enjoy shopping with all of the other frenzied shoppers.

I didn't buy shoes for myself somehow because I am still having this shoe dilemma where I can't seem to find shoes that are actually comfortable that make me look cute and not momsie or like some lady with a walking stick out on her Elder Hostel trek through Turkey. I need help! Flats seem ridiculous to me because I am short, and because all of my jeans are hemmed to be worn with a shoe with a heel. I know that the real fashion mavens have their jeans hemmed to different lengths to go with their various shoe heights, but I simply cannot justify this as a stay-at-home mom. I don't really wear high, high heels anymore, at least not on a daily basis. I think the answer is going to lie in some kind of wedge-heeled shoe, but one that is so comfortable I can wear it all day and not have to think about it. I continue to search.

I didn't actually buy a thing for myself today, unless you'd count the little white kimono outfit I picked up in the children's department today, size 6 months, with a white velvet bow. I'm not so sure this time that I will have a girl, but I wanted to honor the little one growing inside of me with a special gift. If I have a boy I'll take it back and find something else, of course. I think for me it is a token to hold onto through this pregnancy, and a way to remember that this child is its own miracle, deserving of its own recognition and anticipation.

Pregnant

Last week Wednesday I found out I was pregnant. Apparently, I'm about six weeks along now, and the embryo (or is it called a "fetus" at this point? I forget) is supposedly about the size of a peppercorn. I'm not exactly sure how far along, as my cycle's been all out of whack for a few months, so they have estimated from a blood test they took last week. Thank you, phlebotomist, for the lovely brown bruise I'm now sporting on my left arm.

I've had few symptoms, except for a monster headache that started about Sunday evening and stayed with me until Wednesday. Oh yes. I used to really be the Headache Queen - like get these horrible hormonal/migraine headaches that took over my entire body and would cause me so much pain I would vomit - until I had a child. Then they pretty much went away. Now they're back, apparently. With my last pregnancy, I managed to avoid coffee, alcohol, litter boxes, artificial sweeteners and most of that other "bad" stuff like the plague. I did still indulge in sushi at Azuma and stinky European cheeses. And I will again, dammit! And this time, I'm having a cup of coffee every morning. I've decided it's okay, and it's a hell of a lot better than getting a headache from lack of caffeine that turns into a migraine that lasts for three days. I did have to come to this on my own, though. I hate it when people shove their children in your face and say things like, "I had a glass of wine every day throughout my pregnancy with Beauregard, and look! There's nothing wrong with him!" Shut up - you're gross. As if your baby was this grand experiment about the REAL effects of alcohol on fetuses (all that stuff the doctors say is just a bunch of bunk, right?), and you've got living proof now that we all can have a cocktail with dinner every night. Blech.

I'm going to be talking (actually whining) about unsolicited advice from people when you're pregnant. Unsolicited comments in general. With my last pregnancy, I liked to play this trick on inappropriate people in supermarkets, etc., who would ask me when I was due. I liked to act really shocked and say, "I'm not sure I understand what you mean!" so they would have to stand there and flounder and try to think of how to now mask their idiotic comment. Some woman came up to me at Costco near the pillow section and she grabbed a body pillow and shoved it at me and she said, "You're going to need this." Shut up. Call me a grump (and I am kind of a grump today, and I will be frequently throughout the next nine months), but people need to censor themselves somewhat. A pregnant belly is not a cry for help, in and of itself. If I must cry for help, I'll just cry. Oh and I will just cry, too. Don't tell me anything about babies dying or conjoined twins having an operation to get separated or some child's plight with multiple sclerosis or diabetes or homelessness. I'll be a mess. I already am a mess, but you know, it will all just come out in your lap.

Anyway, right now this baby's just a peppercorn, so no one's talking to me at the grocery store usually. Except the elderly men who see my daughter and come up to me and say, "What aisle did you pick her up in?" Ha ha ha. I swear this has happened each of the last five times I've been at the Safeway. Maybe it's the same guy! And I always say, "I had a coupon," or "She was on special." Ha ha ha. What the hell is wrong with me?

And I am excited to house this new life. In general, my last was an excellent pregnancy. I cruised around (then waddled) for the entire blissful time. I was a little bit cranky and I got pretty tired of getting up to go to the bathroom all the time, but I loved having a big belly and I thought I looked pretty awesome. I also got really into the whole mother-one-with-earth thing. Not like Birkenstocks and all that - no way (see my last post) - I definitely still got my grub on at Jack in the Box and the taco wagon in Burien and wore heels that were too high for my pudgy legs. I just mean that I was continually amazed that my body could grow this other person, and I could be her first life source. That's pretty incredible to me.

Last time I knew it was going to be a girl. I bought her an outfit at the Nordstrom Anniversary Sale (starts tomorrow!) before we even found out, and my husband yelled at me, but I just smiled because I knew. This time nothing strikes me right away. Perhaps I'm just being more reserved because now the chances are good again that it will be a boy. A boy would be good. I'm not such a boy kind of gal (one of two sisters), but I could learn how to do it for sure. I would try not to pressure him too much or dress him too effeminately, but I think I would secretly hope the whole time that he was gay. I'd be waiting at every turn to have "that conversation" about the gay neighbors or the man who wears foundation at the M.A.C. counter or the cheese guy at the market - you know. I mostly would just want him to learn to respect women, and to respect himself, and to not be afraid to do things like use lotion.

It's going to be different this time with a toddler in tow, I keep thinking. It already is different. What happened to that rule from last time about how you're not supposed to lift more than 20 pounds? Or you're probably not supposed to change poopy diapers or eat pieces of food that someone else has already slobbered on. I guess you don't have the same rules when you already have one. I keep trying to tell my daughter that mommy has a baby in her tummy, but she just smiles at me and says, "Owie. Tummy." Okay - I guess that's good enough for now. Another great journey begins. I'll see you tomorrow at the sale in the baby section. I'll be the one with the cup of coffee.

Thinking about shorts

The weather in Seattle has been hot, and apparently it's only going to get hotter this week. Which brings on a multitude of emotions for me. It's swell that the heat has finally come to our fair, green city. I get so sick of freezing in my house in May (my husband refuses to turn on the heat - he says, "Put on a sweater!" Aaagh! Is this something - some kind of fear-of-heater-usage chip - programmed into all men? My father is the same way), so my body is glad it's warm. I love going to the wading pool with my daughter, and splashing around with her and watching the absolute delight take over her entire being to be in the water playing with the other kids. I even love showing a little shoulder, and a little tanned, freckled decolletage if the feeling is right. But I am not so fond of the notion that we must be outside all the time in the nice weather, and I have a love-hate relationship with that American summertime clothing obsession . . . shorts.

I am an indoor cat, for the most part. I'll gladly attend a picnic or two during the summer months, though I do get a bit aggravated about hosting one myself (what is this need for packing up food in containers, on ice, carting it all to a park or other windy, hot, insect-filled locale, and eating off of precarious, soggy paper plates, all just to pack it all up again and unpack it at home?!). I'll have you for dinner in my dining room anytime you like. You can eat the food off of my dishes at my table, and I'll clear the table for you and wash the dishes with my soap and water that I have here at the house. That sounds very pleasant to me, and like excitement enough for one evening - even a summer evening. I admit that I would rather read a book or do a Sudoku or crossword puzzle or drink a Maker's Mark in my pajamas in the house than bring it all outside. If I had a beach house in Hawaii or the Turks & Caicos, sure - I'd be out on the beach every day and living in a bikini and probably even set my dinner table on the outside patio and invest in one of those giant bug-zapping machines. But living in Seattle, I get used to (and very comfortable with) staying indoors and building my indoor nest.

I'll get to the shorts thing. I lived in Europe for a year or so while in college, and for another couple of months some years later. I lived in Spain. And if there's one thing that identifies an American tourist quicker than some idiot shouting at a waiter that they want butter for their bread, it's shorts. Now, I am a snob in my own right but I'm not some kind of girl who's spent a few months in Europe and now I have a silly Madonna/Gwynneth Paltrow accent and I must have a cappucino every day for breakfast. No. I have worn shorts before and I am wearing them right now, for heaven's sake. I just think that the Europeans must be onto something for having universally and repeatedly rejected this clothing item. I heard the What Not to Wear ladies on Oprah one day confirming this out loud. They said, essentially, "Don't wear shorts, ladies," to many boos and gasps from the Oprah audience. They're right. Shorts look terrible. You all look terrible in your shorts, especially you ladies in the Oprah audience. I look terrible right now in my shorts. I bought short shorts because I have short legs and thought that the short shorts would make them look longer. What they do is highlight my gigantic, once-athletic, now wobbly thighs and bunch up in the area just under my na-na because that's where my thighs rub together (an area I call the "chub-rub" zone), so they end up looking like an adult diaper. Terrible. I've tried mid-thigh shorts and "walking" (knee-length) shorts, and none of them are right. And yet summer after summer, you'll find me at the Old Navy register, shelling out my $19.99 for the dream of looking perfect and summery/sporty in shorts. The problem with shorts is most definitely some kind of problem of physics. There is not enough weight to shorts, or not enough fabric, or not enough of either, so that your chubby parts of your legs grab onto the fabric and pull it up. This happens between your legs (as with my aforementioned adult diaper phenomena), or at the intersection of your abdomen and thighs, creating a huge exaggerated crotch look, or (perhaps worst of all) between your butt cheeks, so that it looks like your bottom is "eating" the shorts. Usually, it's a combination of all three effects.

I don't know why this is a love/hate problem for me. I pretty much just hate shorts. But every year as I said, I seem to get sucked into the excitement, and then I am very, very sorry. This is a difficult fashion dilemma. European women somehow manage to live without shorts - they wear skirts and long pants and dresses and always look cool and comfortable. I wear skirts sometimes, but that's not really the answer for a stay-at-home mom. I like to get down on the floor and spread my legs if I want and roll around with my daughter. And jeans are too hot for this time of year. Oh - P.S. I think capri pants suck, too - they have all the same problems as shorts and cut me mid-calf, which is suicide for the short-legged woman (though of course I own a pair of these as well - aargh!). Then there are pants that come in lovely "summer-weight" fabrics like linen. Linen is a really great fabric to wear if you are a mannequin in a temperature-controlled department store. Or a European woman. But for those of us who sit in the car or go to the bathroom or have lunch, linen is a big no-no. So for now, I am stuck.

Can I just say that the other big fashion problem I have this time of year is footwear. I refuse to go in for all the Crocs and Keen sandals. Those things are just silly. Yes, Seattle, I've said it. This is why I must remain anonymous. Just as I'll say that Birkenstocks are silly and have no flattering qualities. Really. However, I am at this point in my life where I really do need to wear something somewhat comfortable, as most of the time I am chasing a toddler around and can't be tiptoeing through the sawdust at the playground on three-inch heels. I wear these black Dansko sandals that I got a few years ago when we went to Italy for our honeymoon. They have a chunky, thick sole which gives me some height and have a lot of straps to them so I can imagine that they look a little bit sexy. They are passable, and I wear them every . . . single . . . day. They do scream "comfort sandal," though, so I'm currently looking for a new best summer shoe friend. I love the Donald J. Pliners, but I don't have $180 to spend right now on some sandals and no one seems to want to put a new pair on ebay for $30, so I'll continue to pine. And wear my short shorts and flip-flops inside my cozy house, contemplating how those damned European women do it.