There is No Crying in Fabulous Shoe Night

All throughout the genesis and planning of the Fabulous Shoe Night concept, I have been eager to basically just hurry up and start helping people already. Having to wait to do so until the (boring! mundane! God-awful!) legalities could be put in place was like Chinese water torture to me, because, as anyone who knows me will tell you, I am not very patient. So I should have been thrilled and happy last Thursday night, the evening of our first fund raising event, that what I had been waiting for, planning for, wishing for all these months was finally here, right?

Nope. Not even close.

Instead I was a bewildering blend of self-doubt and certainty. I was certain … positive! … that no one would show up. Certain that the entire concept was a stupid idea. What was I thinking …?? A women's social group combining shoes and charity??  Ridiculous!! A little voice would occasionally interrupt (I like to think it was the voice of reason) and whisper that if it were truly a stupid idea, I wouldn't have so many wonderful, intelligent, busy people offering their time and talent to help make my "folly" a reality. Only problem was ... it didn't interrupt often enough. In the mental tug-of-war between self-doubt and reason, self-doubt was clearly ahead.

Sorella Boutique, here in my hometown of Media, PA, was hosting the first ever Fabulous Shoe Night charitable event. Guests were invited to wear their most fabulous shoes, and enjoy wine, champagne and appetizers as they shopped. 20% of sales from the evening would go to deserving clients of Lovely You, a shop catering to the special needs of women enduring the ravages of chemotherapy and/or radiation, offering wigs, head scarves and comfort care products … as well as emotional support. I couldn't think of a better  group to help for our first event, and my panic rose anew … I didn't want to fail these women.

The closer the hour got to the event, the more doubt crept in, all but 

obliterating any voice of reason. I needed reinforcements. I had already pestered my husband enough during the day … so I called Jeff. He has that Yoda-like quality that imparts calm and wisdom during my frequent bouts of panic. Thank God he picked up. After patiently listening to my verbal and emotional tsunami, clearly hearing the impending tears in my voice, he succinctly said, "There is no crying in Fabulous Shoe Night."  As I tried to protest, he stopped me again, knowing I hadn't really heard him. "No … listen to me. There is NO crying in Fabulous Shoe Night. People will come, it's going to be great. Just go and do it. Call me tomorrow." 

Oh … ! Well … that was quick. Humph. Having no other choice, I squared my shoulders and sighed, brushing away one last tear. Okay, then … let's do this.

Through my panic, I couldn't help but notice as I walked through the door at Sorella that the atmosphere was … festive. Char, the owner, and her staff were excited, happily relaying that they had been answering calls all day from women inquiring about the event. 

Despite my fear of no one showing up, women began to slowly trickle in, some in groups, others alone. I walked around, talking to each of them about what Fabulous Shoe Night was all about, and my goals and hopes for the future. Everyone seemed very receptive to the idea, and not a single person confirmed my fear that it was a "stupid" idea. Quite the opposite, actually … they loved it. I slowly began to relax. 

At one point I stood back and just observed, visually trying to drink in everything that was going on. I noticed something I hadn't counted on … in fact, never even thought of;  a growing sense of sisterhood became evident. There was an energy in the air that you could actually feel. They got it. A group of women came together on that rainy Thursday night to help other women, women they don't know … and will likely never meet. But we all knew we were there in silent support of these women going through their own personal Hell called cancer. We were happy to be there, and that positive energy we all felt was both unifying and unmistakably up-lifting.

By the end of the night, I was mentally drained, but feeling buoyant enough to go out for a celebratory drink with Char and my friend Patty. We exceeded our goal for the night … exceeded it. I'm still trying to wrap my head around it. When I think that the money we raised that night may help a woman going through chemotherapy get a wig instead of the head scarf she thought she had to settle for … I feel buoyant all over again. That's what we're all about. That's the spirit of Fabulous Shoe Night I intended all along … women coming together for a fun night out, all wearing our most fabulous shoes, helping to make the world a better place … unified. 

Every time I think about it, my eyes fill with tears. Happy tears.

Let's do this.

Who ... Me? Networking .... ??

I was lucky enough to attend the "Women on the Move" luncheon given by Main Line Today Magazine last month, as two of my friends were honored. I was going for the fun, and to support my friends, yet a lot of people told me it would be a great networking opportunity to get the word out about Fabulous Shoe Night. 

Oh … I never really thought of it that way.

Networking is not something that comes naturally to me, as I've never had to do it. Before my entry into full-time Mommy-hood, I was a nurse, and, unless you had administrative aspirations, you just did your job and collapsed at the end of each shift. Simple enough. The same with motherhood … do your "job," and pretty much collapse at the end of each day … hoping that when your head hit the pillow it actually was the end of your day. Sure, there are always those Mommies in any neighborhood, pre-school playground, etc. that try to cozy up to the "popular" Mom … but, if you want to get technical, they're actually social climbing, not networking. Not something to aspire to.

So, I went to the luncheon with some new terminology swimming about my head … I wasn't just there to support my friends, I was also there to "network" and "make contacts." 

Okay. 

Ummm …. okay. 

For those of you who may not know me personally, did I mention that I'm shy? I am. For those of you who do know me, please stop giggling. I say that because, every time I mention what I feel to be my innate shyness to one of my friends, they always burst out laughing, at which point I usually stamp my foot in frustration while insisting that I really am shy. This is always followed by more laughter, then another foot stamp and a more emphatic "Really!!!" ... with perhaps a mild expletive thrown in. My wonderful friend Danel is a perfect example of this;  she burst into a fit of giggles when I once mentioned my shyness. The more I protested, the more (and harder) she laughed. Ten minutes later we just had to call a truce and agree to disagree … each confident that we were actually the right one.

Armed with the knowledge that I was there to harvest "contacts," I scanned the crowd nervously. How does one go about this networking, I wondered? Forgetting my mission, I soon became engrossed looking at all the women's shoes. Old habits die hard, I guess. Before I knew it, though, someone was complimenting me on my shoes. We got to chatting. One thing led to another, and before I had time to think about the answer, I was asked what it was I "did." My usual answer, "I'm a stay-at-home Mom … I have three sons," was on the tip of my tongue before I caught it. Instead, I answered, " I'm forming a women's social group combining fashion and charity for fabulous women … it's called Fabulous Shoe Night." Previously, my answer regarding full-time motherhood would be met by a myriad of reactions ranging from admiration to all-out pity, so I was unprepared for what came next. "Wow!! Really??! That sounds like so much fun! Tell me more!" Before I knew it, the one woman I was talking to had morphed into five. They all had questions for me. Someone tapped my shoulder and said there was someone on the other side of the room who wanted to meet me. Wait … wanted to meet  me?  Oh … okay.

By the end of the luncheon, I had a purse full of business cards, two lunch dates, and an offer to do PR. Oh, yeah … and an invitation to join a women's networking group.

Networking group, you ask?

Not to worry … I've got this networking thing covered. 

The (Too) High Price of Fashion ... (continued)

Part II: The Fall

The doorman grasped my elbow protectively as he guided me up the stairs and out of the storm. I thanked him profusely as he took my (useless) umbrella out of my hands and closed it with a practiced ease. "Bet you're glad to be out of that mess, huh?" he asked. Just this brief, pleasant exchange, combined with being out of the fury of Mother Nature and the other horrible events of the morning, made me feel … protected, taken care of. What a nice older gentleman! He saw I was in distress, soaked, stressed, and helped me. I loved this place. It was safe. I smiled at him gratefully, feeling the pink, happy glow of unexpected, caring interaction between two strangers. I was here. Mission accomplished. Now I could relax and enjoy the rest of my day.

Determined to shake off my rocky start, I straightened up, shook the remaining raindrops from my hair (careful  not to spray my new friend, the doorman, in the process), and wiped my face dry. I would worry about my shoes later, I thought, as I felt my toes sloshing around. I looked around the grand lobby of the Bellevue. A huge expanse of marble floor stretched before me, bustling with people and activity. Looking up, I took in the height of the atrium, flanked on all sides with upscale stores. Now comes the fun part. Shopping. Retail therapy was definitely in order.

I began to make my way to the ornate staircase at the far end of the lobby. Not four steps into it … it happened.  Time suddenly shifted into slow-motion as I felt one of my 4" heels slip on water on the marble floor … water that had traitorously  dripped from my own umbrella. My arms made a crazy backstroke motion in the air as I tried valiantly to maintain some sense of balance.  My left leg flew out in a grotesque split as I watched in a dazed, detached curiosity, as if it was happening to someone else. I crashed down onto my right knee-cap, hard. So hard it would ache for months afterward; the impact actually bruised the bone.  My body pitched forward as I landed on my belly. My arms flew out before me and the umbrella clattered noisily on the floor, the impact now amplified in the suddenly quiet atrium, drawing attention to my awkward gymnastics. Time switched yet again from slow-motion to a dead stop as I realized I was lying … literally belly-flopping … on the floor of the Bellevue.

No … the ground did not swallow me up, as I was wishing  it would. Why do sinkholes never happen where and when you want them to?

Time remained at a standstill as my eyes swept the lobby. It was suddenly, impossibly empty … I was the sole attraction. From my position on the floor, I scanned the upper levels of the atrium and staircase … all conversation, all activity stopped as everyone's eyes were now on me … still belly-flopping. No one stepped forward to help me. I heard a business man chuckle on one of the upper levels. The attendant at the Information Desk remained seated as he casually leaned forward to ask, seemingly unconcerned, if I was alright. I looked back toward the lobby … where was my friend, the doorman?? He was no where to be seen … probably helping some other woman in out of the rain. Bastard.

My face burned with hot shame as I tried to gracefully hoist myself up off the floor. My umbrella lay several feet from where I landed, and I limped over to retrieve it, my right shoe having landed somewhere else entirely. It took another minute (hour!) to find it. With both shoes now on, and with as much dignity as I could muster, I got up and took a few tentative steps, having lost all confidence in my ability to walk in public. Oh, yeah … and if I remembered correctly, I didn't have a stellar track record for driving so well over the past two days, either. Note to self: all forms of self-locomotion will be suspended until further notice.

Feeling like I was enveloped in a cloak of shame and embarrassment, I somehow made my way up the staircase as I abandoned my plans to shop and head right to the luncheon. No … I wasn't hungry, I just needed, desperately, to sit down. Maybe I could get a glass of wine? But then I thought better of it … I didn't want the garage attendant to smell alcohol on my breath when I confronted him about the low-hanging pipes that damaged my car as I ripped him a new one.

The lunch was uneventful and woefully predictable … rubber chicken amidst a table of strangers I wouldn't know today if I fell over them, too. I did notice, however, that I was the only one with limp hair and damp clothing; no doubt my table-mates hogged all the indoor parking at the Bellevue. I managed to make pleasant chit-chat and eyed their glasses of wine enviously as I made plans for escape. I needed to get out of there. I needed to go home.

I needed a nap. 

I needed a hug.

I needed a good cry.

The rain and wind hadn't let up at all as I trudged my way down Broad Street back to the garage. I resigned myself to being uncomfortably damp until I got home. I was met with indifference when I confronted the garage attendant about the damaging pipes. In my panic, I didn't even think to take photos of the pipes making actual contact with the roof of my SUV, so there was nothing to "prove." Being married to an attorney, I should have known better. Oh, well … just add that to the growing list of stupid things I did that day. And, of course I was told, "No, Ma'm … that's never happened before." Yeah … right. 

Ironically enough, the day's storm clouds really did contain a silver lining. That was the dark and stormy March night I met my friend Andrea out for dinner when we were complimented on our shoes. The night the idea for Fabulous Shoe Night took seed, and slowly started to grow. Looking back, I guess it was a good day after all. No, not just good … pivotal. Fateful. Even life-changing.

As far as the Joan & David black patent leather pumps with the 4" heel that played a part in my belly-flopping … no, they haven't been on my feet since. And the Bellevue …? 

Um, no .. I have not been back.

I hate that place.