Shoes and Schadenfreude: an Unholy Pair
My shoes are too big. They’re too big today, they were too big the day I bought them, and they’ll be too big for all time and eternity. I understand this, fully and completely, yet I continue to wear them every few months. I have no idea why. Do I think my feet will grow half a size? Is it that I think I might have been a little wrong all the other times I’ve worn them? Who knows. Actually, I do know; they’re a size 9, and hence should fit. Should. That, and I bought them with store credit from the Christmas gift my boss gave me last year. Really and truly, I appreciate the gesture but I just didn’t need another cut glass objet d’art. No, not even a semi useful bowl. If I were an octogenarian philanthropist with a large house and fancy candies needing a functional yet beautiful place to await hungry hands, it would have been perfect.

More importantly, the wedding countdown is on! No, duh, not mine. Yikes, though it would be an exciting thing at some point, it's waaaay too early and I think that would be the level of complexity this summer to push me into a fugue state, wherein I could only speak in lyrics from songs by men named Neil (most prominently, of course, the partners of my favorite imaginary law firm: Diamond, Sedaka and Young, L.L.P.)

The wedding in question is my stepsister’s. In less than 6 weeks, she’s allegedly getting married in a small ceremony at her future in-laws’s house. Why the doubt? You be the judge: the first notice of this blessed event came my way a little over two weeks ago via voicemail from my dad. The message went something like this:

“Uhh….hi there. I have an…interesting question for you. It, um, looks like we’re going to be having a wedding here on July 17th and I was wondering if, uh, there’s, uh, any chance that you would be interested in, uh, being here. Yeeaahh….it looks like M and D are going to have a wedding. Aaaaaanyway, give me a call back and let me know if you think you can make it so I can get working on a ticket. MBye.”

When I called back, gushing pseudo-enthusiasm for attending this happy, happy nuptial celebration, it was even weirder. After a few minutes of the usual awkwardness we have on the phone, I tried to use the wedding as fodder for nice conversation. Trying to seem genuinely interested, I asked “soooo….is she excited?” And we rounded the corner into the truly bizarre.

Dad: Um, it’s kind of strange, actually.
Me: How so?
Dad: Wellllll, he hasn’t actually proposed.
Me: I’m sorry?
Dad: No proposal.
Me: Huh?
Dad: I know, it’s weird.
Me: But there’s a date…and you guys are trying to decide whether to have it at your house or D’s parents’ house…
Dad: But no proposal.
Me: [pause] Does she know?
Dad: Does she know?
Me: About the wedding. Does M know this is happening?
Dad: Oh sure…she bought a dress last week.
Me: Does he know?
Dad: Does she know? I just told you.
Me: Nooo….does HE know?
Dad: D? Um…..I think so. We talk about it in front of him an awful lot.
Me: Oh my.
Dad: Yeah. It’s complicated. I keep thinking this is going to make him feel uncomfortable, what with the way we discuss it in front of him, especially when she turns to him and says “It’s not like I’ve been PROPOSED to yet!”
Me: Wow.
Dad: Yeah, I could talk for a long time trying to explain it, but it still probably wouldn’t make sense.
Me: That’s cool.

And to think, at first, I was only going for the food.