Shoe Size

The earliest I remember getting shit for the size of my shoe was at nine years old. I was standing out front of St. Elisabeth's with Harry K. and Sister Marie David. Harry was rather geeky, but I liked him enough. I never picked on him, which was why I was surprised at his gall that particular day. Somehow my shoe size came up in a conversation. I had on a pair of brown slip-on Vans to complement my plaid Catholic school-girl uniform, which I most definitely did not wear in the more popular manner that these skirts are worn these days. Sister Marie David, looking down on us, because she was a pretty tall and lanky broad, said that I needed the feet I had to support my frame. Great, sis. Thanks for that support. Of course I wanted to clock Harry in the mouth but I opted against it, because I was a good little girl. My feet kept growing. I had to have special order sizes in high school when my basketball team ordered them from the catalog. And now? I sport anywhere from a size 10 to 11 men's, depending on the shoe. Good thing I only wear men's shoes...