Fashion Disaster Averted at National

Long-time blog readers know I have an issue with shoes…namely, a proclivity to mix, rather than match.

 

(There was the famous nightclub incident of two years ago when, sitting on the toilet, I realized that not only did my shoes not match, the heels weren’t even the same height. Then, there was the time I was on a blind date and meant to wear a pair of white pumps, but noticed instead I’d worn one white, one grey…both LEFT.)
 

So. Travel with me, if you will, back to Friday, with my agent appointment looming. I took a break from workshops to do a quick costume change that would say hip, yet perky and professional. This amounted to a swishy short dress with white polka dots on a black background. With white pumps.
 

Okay, now I remember being VERY careful when I packed. See, I have TWO pair of white pumps in my closet, one older than the other. Wanted to make sure I matched the newer left with the newer right.

Pawed through my suitcase.

Uh-oh.

You guessed it.

Two lefts.

(Missed trip to Dallas)

Please don’t think for a minute I entertained the notion of wearing a left on my right foot. Okay, yes. I tentatively stuck my right foot in (ya do the hokey pokey, and you shake it all about) but knew instantly this was NOT going to work. On to Plan B—black patent leather, which as we all know, is perfectly permissible between Memorial and Labor Days because of the patent leather part.

Whew.

By the way, who says you don’t learn anything at National? Five years ago, at my first conference, I teetered around for three hours before figuring out the beige pumps I wore were different heights.

As for the agent appointment…I did my usual fabulous job of blathering like an idiot. (Or, does an idiot blither?? As in, blithering idiot?) Anyway, my victim—I mean, my audience—Lois Winston (who’s both writer and agent, by the way) couldn’t have been more gracious in response. (‘Course, she didn’t know that at any moment my head could have done its quaking thing—another proclivity long-time blog readers may remember with fondness). Bottom line, I got through it, Lois requested the partial of Leftovers, and I’ll be shooting that sucker off to her sometime this week.

Later, as I pondered my performance, I remembered my go-to ice-breaker—forgotten in a spasm of nerves. Do you suppose Lois wondered why I wore two badges—one with my own name, and the other with that of my evil twin, agent Lucienne Diver?

Oops.

And that’s another story.