Why I Can't Give Shoes to Goodwill

You can bet your best Italian pumps that Barbra Streisand wasn't crooning about footwear when she recorded "Memories." But anyone with a scintilla of sentimentality knows women cannot dispose of emotionally-charged wearing apparel (and what could be more challenging than an arched instep clinging to a naked body part?) without feeling a bit queasy. Fortunately, instinct
usually leads females to sigh and say, "Maybe another time." But there
never is.

Note to skeptics: Lining up shoes in neat little rows like soldiers is
modeling behavior that begins in early childhood. If Mommy Dearest cannot
bear to part with the scuffed and dirty Oxfords that shuffled through 28
European art museums when she spent her junior year abroad, her children
will most likely (dare I say?) follow in her footsteps. Who among us does not recall the first time we wiggled into shiny patent-leather party shoes and made our social debut? And if you carry that image a little further, remember tossing away your lace-trimmed socks for real hose? Was it at that dreadful middle school Harvest Festival when your escort dropped your corsage into the punch bowl? Even so, you still treasure the memory of those hideous canary yellow sling backs and how you clicked and clacked all night to the music of Barry White and Van Halen.

These shoes, of course, now gather dust in the back of your closet behind
your cheerleader's high tops with the cute tassels. They're next to the
sequined open-toed prom sandals and the knee-high Western boots handcrafted in Tucson by that sexy cowboy with the Marlboro smile. Remember? He turned out to be just another Disco dude with a ponytail and a diamond stud. And the boots? Tore up my feet. Ditto for the wedding wedgies. Sure, they look like squashed marshmallows now. But what the hey, if they keep a little romance alive, they're worth the dust bunnies. Besides, they're part of your marital history. And maybe you're just a teeny-tiny bit superstitious. Maybe you're afraid if you bid farewell to those booties, your marriage might take a hike too. No, better to hide them next to the penny loafers you wore on your first real grown-up movie date. Those suckers are super-sized from when your brother squeezed into them for Halloween, but at least it's something you still can wear from high school.

Then there's the 18-hour, I-can-shop-till-I-drop shoes. The pair that traipsed through miles of airports and stayed comfy for countless job interviews--bless their ribbed and rubber soles. You can't give them up--that would be disrespectful--like kissing off a dear friend. Besides, they're good to paint the basement.. And no way can you recycle those peek-a-boo platforms. You bought them to celebrate that big promotion, and you love them today just as much as those fuzzy-wuzzy slippers you haven't worn since Nixon was in office.
Can you say Hush Puppies? Don't cry, but those are the ones Buster the Boxer stole and chewed and chewed until he crossed the Rainbow Bridge.
Look!--your golf shoes and hiking boots. So what if you're not into The
Great Outdoors anymore? They remind you of your vibrant youth. That's
right. Move them next to your lucky moccasins--you know, the ones you wear
whenever you go for mammograms.

Now peek inside the shoe bag on your closet door. Those are vacation
mementos, bought in glitzy places like Las Vegas, Capri, Santa Barbara and
Nice. The rest are birthday goodies. Lined up like lollipops, they bring
back yummy memories of pleasure-filled days of fun and frolic. But wait--here come the transitional toe-tappers--the shoes you associate with change and reinvention. They're as dear to you as the Beatles' White album. Remember that professional fork in the road when you needed something sturdy yet striking to boost your confidence? Or maybe you were in-between relationships and wanted something wild and crazy--something with a satin sheen or metallic rosette?

Shoes can mark the "times of your life"--like photos in that famous camera commercial. They may not fit in albums or on DVDs, and you probably wouldn't want to sing about them (although "Blue Suede Shoes" works for me), but, like any 5" X 7" glossy, a pair of shoes connects you to uniquely personal
memories. And speaking of memories, Barbra, shouldn't you and Imelda be boxing up a few for Goodwill?