Mules and Class
The Rockrose Moon (A Serial Fiction) Part 36
Speaking of questionable taste, I am not sure but I think without them having ever said anything, I inherited from my parents a distaste for the kind of shoes called mules.
It must have been sort of racial snobbishness on the part of both (originally from peasant stock) of them. The way they would both look at a woman flopping around in mules with that headstrong go ahead Bangkok look. Slutty. Tacky. Louche.
If I see a woman wearing mules, no matter how otherwise well dressed or lovely she might be as far as I am concerned she is off my radar. She is not someone I’d like to know.
There are those mostly not quite attractive middle aged men, the sex tourist type that sometimes tell me they want me to dress up in ripped stockings and cheap clothes and too much make-up and then put on an apron and cook for them. To be the kind of woman that wears mules.
They are sorely misguided to think I am like that, or that I would like that. To treat them like kings. So that I can stay in the US and eat bland food.
I think those kind of men are evil and they think they are the salt of the earth. That everybody now has it backward. Throwbacks!
Anyway somehow or other this brings me to Michael. He is Iranian but when we met he lied and told me he was from Turkey. My original muse.
Because he buys his clothes in Italy and wears the softest softest leather shoes. And with his moon eyes I am sure he wouldn’t like mules either, even though we never talked about it. Slides are fine. I have some fabulous Italian suede stacked heel slides but they are a world apart from even the high heeled poofed up mules.
It is like the neighborhoods, in San Francisco. You walk one block and the class has changed. I am seeing this now around the Gelato place here in Portland, around funky Powell’s. Pretty soon you won’t even be able to show your face unless your net worth is over a certain ridiculous amount and you are driving and wearing the certain fashion.
I pray with all my yogic heart that that fashion does not include mules.
Speaking of questionable taste, I am not sure but I think without them having ever said anything, I inherited from my parents a distaste for the kind of shoes called mules.
It must have been sort of racial snobbishness on the part of both (originally from peasant stock) of them. The way they would both look at a woman flopping around in mules with that headstrong go ahead Bangkok look. Slutty. Tacky. Louche.
If I see a woman wearing mules, no matter how otherwise well dressed or lovely she might be as far as I am concerned she is off my radar. She is not someone I’d like to know.
There are those mostly not quite attractive middle aged men, the sex tourist type that sometimes tell me they want me to dress up in ripped stockings and cheap clothes and too much make-up and then put on an apron and cook for them. To be the kind of woman that wears mules.
They are sorely misguided to think I am like that, or that I would like that. To treat them like kings. So that I can stay in the US and eat bland food.
I think those kind of men are evil and they think they are the salt of the earth. That everybody now has it backward. Throwbacks!
Anyway somehow or other this brings me to Michael. He is Iranian but when we met he lied and told me he was from Turkey. My original muse.
Because he buys his clothes in Italy and wears the softest softest leather shoes. And with his moon eyes I am sure he wouldn’t like mules either, even though we never talked about it. Slides are fine. I have some fabulous Italian suede stacked heel slides but they are a world apart from even the high heeled poofed up mules.
It is like the neighborhoods, in San Francisco. You walk one block and the class has changed. I am seeing this now around the Gelato place here in Portland, around funky Powell’s. Pretty soon you won’t even be able to show your face unless your net worth is over a certain ridiculous amount and you are driving and wearing the certain fashion.
I pray with all my yogic heart that that fashion does not include mules.
posted by NokoRose at 2:02 PM
1 Comments:
I can see what you mean about mules .. they are rather a sloppy form of footwear. Well written. As always.
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