That was then---This is now....and again....

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She don't believe in shootin' stars,

but she believes in shoes & cars,

Wood floors in the new apartment,

couture from the store's department...

("Flashing Lights", Kanye West)

Initially I thought it would be me that had the most trouble adjusting to things when I returned to my ex-husband, Blaine, here in the huge suburb wasteland called Overland Park, near Kansas City, Kansas.

It's been a little rocky but overall I think that he, not I, should garner the most sympathy for having to re-adjust all over again to this relationship. He claims that I am "eccentric". He says that he never knows if I'm truly insane or if he needs to feel my forehead to "see if I'm feverish". Maybe I really AM crazy but you can't let him off the hook that easily.

He knew what he was getting into when he didn't sign on the dotted line this time. It mostly seems to crop up the in the little, everyday things.....

For example, Blaine declared this past weekend that he knew I'd "finally gone completely wacko" over a footwear issue. Sigh.... I don't know why he even bothers to try and understand my logic, anyway, because everybody knows that I have never HAD any wardrobe logic. I tend to wear strictly what I like, damn the social consequences.

I never wear an item of clothing simply because it is "fashionable", or it's a particular brand, or it's classy or tacky, or expensive or inexpensive, or whatever. I wear whatever strikes my fancy at the moment. And I mix clothing articles without prejudice. For example, I might wear multiple articles of clothing which are all in direct "opposition" with each other.

Like, I may wear a cheap pair of Walmart sweatpants with an expensive, department-store sweater. Or I might sport a plastic cartoon wristwatch I bought at a gas station together with a $200 designer-dress.

I once wore a full-length mink coat over a Cal Poly sweatshirt to the grocery store but we won't go into that right now......

Anyway, this weekend the ruckus between Blaine and I was was over shoes, of all things.

Saturday morning I had announced that I needed some new footwear. It was because that evening we were going to attend the newly-opened AMC 30 IMAX theater with Blaine's sisters' family and I didn't want to wear my same old raggedy athletic shoes to a social occasion yet once again.

"You've got to buy me some new shoes," I had stated to Blaine emphatically. "Everybody at the theater will be all dressed up and I don't want to have to be ashamed to show up in these stupid ole running shoes." I was tired of my stupid ole running shoes.

Of course, Blaine never sees any good reason for spending perfectly good money on some fool female clothing ideation.

"What difference does it make what you wear on your feet in the dark at the movies?" he countered, blissfully unaware that I had been totally and goodnaturedly prepared to counter-attack his usual attempt at male logic. I know that it is going to take some time for him to get used to us being back together---and also for him to get used to, again, my blatant disregard for whatever constitutes current Paris' fashion dictates.

And besides.....he HAD agreed to support me financially upon my illustrious return to the Land of The Mary Kay Parties....

"But this is the brand new IMAX theater," I continued patiently. "It just opened up and so it's a special occasion. You don't just 'go to the movies' at the IMAX---you sit and get SERVED DINNER while you're watching the movie. It's not like the old days when you just bought a stupid box of Milk Duds and a Coke at the concession stand."

In the end Blaine took me to the Bass Pro Shops. He wanted to buy a new cold-weather jacket and probably figured that I couldn't get into any apparel troubles at that august and conservative establishment.

But he was wrong.

Because sure enough, like everything else when it comes to me and Blaine, everything went to a very public hell in a handbasket. You'd think he would have remembered......

Because upon arriving at the Bass Pro Shops, I promptly strolled over to the fishing department and carefully picked out a pair of black rubber, totally waterproof, size 3 little boys, Pro-Line knee-high rubber boots.

And I thought Blaine was going to have an apoplectic fit.

In fact, the minute I plucked the boots off the shelf he came sputtering to attention with his eyes bugging out like a gigged frog, trying to breathe out a coherent statement of protest, to the astonishment of the hapless salesgirl.

"Oh my God, why in the HELL would you pick out those hideous things?" he choked. "I knew you'd do something nutty like this! These are FISHING BOOTS for crying out loud! They're made out of rubber!"

"And they have steel-reinforced shanks," I replied calmly, sitting down on the bench to try the boots on. The salesgirl was starting to look nervous.

"But we are GOING TO THE MOVIES, NOT THE LOCAL FISHING HOLE," he persisted. More nearby Bass Pro Shop staff were starting to perk up their ears. "And it's NOT EVEN RAINING!"

"Oh keep your shirt on," I snapped, vainly searching my mind for an explanation which would shut him up and save him from having a coronary.

Finally, seizing upon female reasoning, I explained.

"Um...they're the latest fashion," I mused blithely, dancing a spritely jig as I modeled the boots in the little foot mirror. "Everybody's wearing them."

A little white lie, but that's besides the point.

Also in the little foot mirror I could see the salesgirl rolling her eyes behind my back.

Now please allow me to explain here that I like the dadgum boots. So what if they're all rubber and knee-high? They are easy to pull on, they're warm, they're waterproof, and (like I said before) I don't give a rat's patooty whether or not anybody else approves of my attire.

"I am NOT paying for those ridiculous things," he protested finally, even yet while pulling his American Express card out of his wallet. "They're not even LADIES' shoes. They're BOYS' boots!"

"I told you, they're the latest fashion!" I replied audaciously, smiling to the incredulous stare of the evidently traumatized salesgirl.

God, you'd have thought she'd never seen an argument between a woman and her ex-spouse before, sheesh....

Of course, in the end, I won. But Blaine did throw one more verbal salvo as we left the good ole conservative Bass Pro Shops, hurling it towards me after several more green-shirted employees had gathered to see who would ultimately win the fight.

"That's IT," he announced ominously as we exited the building, walking pass the store's ubiquitous and gigantic fish tanks. A huge, wall-eyed bass eyeballed me from its wavering float in the middle of the tank's sparkling glass window. "I simply WILL NOT buy you any more shoes for a LONG, LONG time. So I hope you realize, young lady, that you are going to be STUCK, yes STUCK, wearing those stupid things EVERYWHERE---when you could have had some 'nice' shoes if you'd listened to me."

I didn't care. And so I wore them out that night.

But not before Blaine and I had one more skirmish before leaving the house. And I certainly hope our nice neighbors didn't hear him holler up the stairs something to the effect of "oh Good Lord JESUS! You are NOT going to TUCK YOUR JEANS into those things??!! At least wear them UNDER your jeans! Oh crap, I thought you had better TASTE than that!"

But I don't.

(Have better taste than that...)

And I did.

(Wear them with my jeans tucked into them....)

So off we went and I got to make my grand entrance into the IMAX theater holding my head high while wearing what I was satisfied is a perfectly good Saturday night theater ensemble---a pair of Walmart jeans, a tattered 12-year old Kansas City Chief's jacket--- and my brand new, beloved, waterproof rubber Pro Line knee-high rubber boots.

Don't worry--for good measure I had doused myself liberally with some "Heaven" perfume I had bought from the Gap.

Anyhoo, we saw a great movie in the brand new "rocker" IMAX seats where they serve you dinner while you're watching the movie. Blaine's lively sister, Lexie, and her husband had accompanied us and we two girls gabbed like magpies until our respective husbands sternly shushed us to "shut our yaps" during the movie.

"I think 'yap' is such a RUDE term!" I stage-whispered to the two guys.

"What do you want me to call it.....a pie-hole?" Blaine countered beligerantly.

I declined to pursue the matter and ordered my dinner from the lurking attendant.

I ordered the chicken penne pasta and peach cobbler. Lexie ordered the panini and the brownie thing.

There was only one other bad incident during the movie and that was because I simply forgot myself and my absent-minded habit of whistling. I was minding my own business watching the movie and whistling to myself when Blaine again leaned over and loudly whispered: "I prefer that you NOT whistle the tune to '76 Trombones In The Big Parade' during the movie, okay? Now is THAT polite enough for you?"

Okay, I do admit that I tend to whistle to myself absent-mindedly at the oddest occasions. But it's usually no big deal---maybe I do it while I'm strolling up and down the aisles at Walmart or else while filling up the truck's tank with gas.

Okay, okay.....once my mother got a little angry with me for whistling spiritedly to the hymn "Do Lord, Oh Do Lord" at a Baptist church during the music service, but that was a long time ago.

Oh....um ..... and alright, so I was also simultaneously vocalizing the "background harmony" of the "Do Lord" song---I think it's fun to do that---where you holler out "I've gotta home in Gloryland that's OUTSIDE THE SUN, EVERYBODY, I've gotta home in Gloryland!..."

Where was I? Oh yes, at the IMAX.

We all had our dinners and when the movie was over we all filed out to the beautiful theater lobby, where I noticed silly Blaine glancing around nervously to see if anybody was eyeballing my footwear with distaste. And then I noticed Blaine's sister's shoes.

She was wearing some elegant brown leather heels. They were a kind of classical, oxfordy style. (Is 'oxfordy' a word?)

"Those shoes are absolutely beautiful," I told her, admiring the shoes' soft, handsomely burnished leather.

"HUH! Too bad you are stuck with those idiotic fishing boots!" Blaine piped up.

"Thanks," Lexie replied as she and I ignored Blaine. "But I hate these shoes. They're brand new and way too tight. They were expensive but I'll never wear them again. In fact.... do you want them?"

I said I did.

So she took them off and handed them to me.

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Okay, I'm not going to describe the next unpleasant scene whereby Blaine, Lexie's husband, and Lexie's son flipped their respective lids in utter mortification as Lexie calmly took off the lovely oxfordy shoes and handed them to me---and then proceeded to walk out of the theater lobby into the freezing night in her stockinged feet.

Suffice it to say that they weren't pleased.

And I don't care. I couldn't care less that Blaine's very pissed off that I ended up getting my cake and eating it too---what with getting both the Pro Line boots AND some "nice" shoes afterall...

Uh.....which brings me to my sheepish plea:

Um.....well......could anybody who reads this please go to their local Bass Pro Shop and buy the dang Pro Line knee high rubber boots and then WEAR THEM EVERYWHERE, especially OVERLAND PARK, KANSAS---

....because...well, dang it...my next task is to be able to back up my white lie to Blaine that these boots are the "latest fashion" HEH!!!!!

(I mean, they only cost a respectable $16.99--- and one never knows when one is going to need footwear for the theater which doubles as fishing and rain gear, right?) *