Heart and Soles

(NaBloPoMo: Nombre Trois)
You can tell a lot about a guy by looking at his shoes. I once knew a boy who wore plaid, in some way, shape or form, every single day of his life. Come rain, come wind, come sleet, come snow. On. With. The. Plaid! My favorite plaid placement: his shoes. Forever Plaid!

Sure, it depends on the occasion, but here I make reference to the every-day, casual, going-out-with-friends-on-the-weekend shoe. Relying solely on that, I've learned that I'm attracted to a specific kind of shoe, and therefore a specific kind of boy. Of course there's the initial attraction factor, as in personality, good looks and charm, but shoes are right up there. I'm not quite sure the dawning of this practice, but my eyes go from visage to shoes in a matter of seconds. Or, if I'm just people-watching (this is a real treat), it will most likely be the reverse.

I remember having several conversations with my cousin, A, about a certain crush of hers, in particular. While discussing a few of his less-admirable traits that had surfaced, I'd stop her and say, "Oh, but he has such great shoes!" And he did.

(An aside: Lest you think I've taken up office space with the likes of the those fashionistas from "The Devil Wears Prada," one pair of shoes will do. It only takes one. If it's the right one. Onward.)

This idiosyncratic trait of mine comes out, undeviatingly, on blind dates. Here, I'll give you a for instance: (The following initials have been changed to protect these innocent shoe-sporters) I knew I would get along with M because he wore old-school adidas sneaks. C came to the door in his Kenneth Cole's, which only worked for him, and, turns out, we hit it off from the moment he set foot inside my house to meet my parents. A sole connection. (Okay. SO bad. I know). Then there's S, adorable S, who sports good jeans (deserving of an accolade all their own) and New Balance. The perfect mix of city-meets-sporty. Triathlete meets J. Crew, if you will.

But yesterday, when I met D, I couldn't quite read him. I mean, his shoes. Dressed in business attire, (for a breakfast date, mind you) simple black Oxfords poked out from his slacks. Not bad on first encounter. Turns out, my Shoe Meter was on holiday, and here's why: I know there's a bad-date/good-date ratio of about 312 to 2, but I thought these Oxfords were a tell-tale sign that all was good on the date front. 'Twas not so. You see, D was dressed up because it was required for his law school seminar which he had to rush off to post-pancakes. We're still good here. I like lawyers. I like pancakes. I like pancake-eating lawyers.

After doing most of the question-asking (thus he did most of the talking) I learned that if he had his choice, D would be wearing ski boots on his feet 365 days a year. Not that there's anything wrong with that. I'm all for skiers. Plus, he's an Alta boy, which makes him all the better. It just wasn't there. The connection. On any level. I guess what I'm trying to say, is never judge a boy by his shoes. Although a good pair of suede driving mocs never hurt a guy. Or a girl, for that matter.