I killed my Enzos

I never dreamed I'd be doing 2 obits in the space of less than 24 hours, but this time I am announcing the death of my beloved Enzo Angiolinis. I murdered them. Accidentally, but I murdered them. A couple of nights ago I was bouncing down my steps on my way to a date when I took a tumble and as my legs were going out from under me, the heel on the right Enzo caught the stair step, snapped right off and cannonballed across the room. I was totally fine - grabbed the bannister and saved myself just in time - but my Enzos were dead.

Now, before you start thinking I'm nuts for writing an obituary on a pair of freakin' shoes, these weren't just any old zapatos, you understand. First of all, they were Italian, and that would be enough because Italian shoes are the bomb diggity in terms of design, craftsmanship and quality materials; but second of all, they were also gorgeous and sexy - as you can see by the photos I took of me wearing the one good shoe, for posterity. (Check out the dark bronze leather braided straps, dark chocolate stack heel and the greenish-brown natural horn embellishment in the T-strap!) Thirdly, they were amazingly comfortable - it's truly a Nightmare on Elm Street to try to find shoes that even halfway decently fit my size 10 Idaho potato-picker paddles, which are broad AND have high arches. When I wore these suckers, I hardly knew they were on, and I could walk all over the place in them with nary a complaint from either foot or shoe. But if that were not enough, the shoe fairy lavished even more luck on me with the price - I snagged them for $12 at a consignment store (Tabu on Roswell Rd) and normally Enzos retail for $150 or more. So, this morning I was REALLY feeling the loss of these shoes.


In desperation, I took them to my cobbler, a very serious Korean guy. I carefully proffered them with all the mournful devotion of a child with a sick pet, and asked him if there was anything, ANYTHING, he could do. He screwed up his face and tsk-tsked at the carnage before him, the chipped heel, torn leather, broken nails and snapped-in-half metal reinforcement.
"Look, I can put new metal refossment but iss reery too spensive, iss not worth it."
"How much would it be?"
"Thirry-fi dollah."
"Oh. Well, $35 isn't THAT bad if I could wear them again ... after all, I only got them for $12 ..."
"No, you don't unnerstan. Even if I do metal refossment, these shoes nevah be same again. Nevah. Iss not worth it."
"But ... man, I love these shoes, what a bummer! Are you SURE there is nothing that can be done?"
"Nooo. Just throw away."
"Throw them away?!? I couldn't just throw these in the trash, that's a sacrilege! Wait a minute ... if I left them with you, would you want to see if you could fix them up in your spare time and your wife might want them ... ?"
The guy cocked his head toward his wife to get her to come over. She looked the shoes up and down, folded her arms, shook her head, and clucked her tongue. I turned around and looked imploringly at the 20something black girl standing in line behind me, hoping to find some support in my desperation, but she, too, solemnly shook her head, then gave ne a sympathetic pat on the shoulder and said, "Girl, just let it go."

When I got home I dejectedly text-messaged my best friend Jen telling her my Enzos had died, and of course, she totally understood and went with me to Nordstrom's for some shoe therapy. It was meant to be, I suppose. The shoe fairy was good to me once more (I suppose she thought I'd suffered enough grief for one day), and I not only came away with one pair of shoes, but THREE pairs I really like. :-) Pennies from heaven ...