From the Red-Shoe Diaries

Time once again for Saturday Centus. I am a bit late in posting, and as usual a bit over my 100 word limit. I am doomed to fail this class! Nonetheless, I forge ahead, seeking forgiveness for my academic shortcomings. The prompt for this week is in bold italics. The remainder is from the caverns of my mind.

It had been a little over a year since I'd last visited Auntie Nell. My work in San Francisco was far too consuming, leaving me little time for the true pleasures of life. Nell and I shared many pleasures;our unique shared fondness for shoes was front and center. While she was affectionately known as the "Imelda Marcos of Manhattan", I was less affectionately known as the chick with too many shoes. Deep down I knew they were just jealous.

Nell's passing had come as a bit of a shock. I would now be left with only the sweet sadness of memories, and countless pairs of shoes we had picked out together...save one pair that never made it back to San Francisco...an exquisite pair of bright red snakeskin, pointed-toe, Jimmy Choo pumps. Where they had gone remained a mystery.

I entered the Greenwich Village Funeral Home and went directly to Nell's viewing room. I requested to see her sweet, loving face one last time. In keeping with her often outrageous approach to life...and death, she had requested to be interred in a custom built, Bergdorf Goodman shoebox-shaped casket. An involuntary gasp of shock escaped my lips when I opened the 'shoebox' and saw the pointy-toed shoes...those bright red Jimmy Choos that would forever be in my memories...but not on my feet.