I have a bad habit of reminiscing.

Everyone called me a dreamer when I was younger, and especially as I got older. But every time I catch a glimpse of those shoes, I am transported back, back to the days of neon clothes, moon walking, and bad hair.

If you think I'm talking about the 80's, you'd be right.

Probably the greatest decade in history, it was the decade in which I got married, the decade where my best friend gave me away in those shoes.

In the 80's, people would kill to own those shoes. They were high heels, woven in multicolored ribbons, tarnished gold lining the inside, and the heels a blood red. They screamed, "You're going to regret buying me in 20 years!" But, being a sane person, I don't listen to talking shoes, so I forked over the money. I then swung the crackly plastic bag onto my sunburned shoulder, and flew home to see if the green, purple, and clashing red and pink ribbons went as perfectly with my wedding dress as I imagined.

Of course they did. They were like peanut butter to bananas, short shorts to knee high socks.

Perfect.

And, as I was a sane person who didn't listen to warnings from talking shoes, I have never, not once in my seventy eight years, regretted my purchase. They saved me so many times, I didn't even think to regret their presence. Even though it's past 2020, and people either scoff or gag in horror when they spot the monstrosities, it never crossed my mind. No, when my pale blue eyes catch a glance at them, sweet memories flood me.

1984, a dressing room at an all-ages club. I'm dressed in a pink taffeta dress, my dark brown hair in a sculpted disarray, glossed over with hand sanitizer to make it extra shiny. Admittedly, my eyes were a bit like a raccoon's, but who cared what I looked like when my future husband was out there, waiting for me?

I slipped on a plastic beaded necklace I made a few weeks before that I refused to sell. Then I sat on a stained window chair and blinked into the barely visible speckled mirror.

This is it, Vern, I thought to myself, and my heart rose in my throat. Panic and excitement rolled over me in waves as I picked up the sacred shoes and slipped one on my newly pedicured foot. The ribbons hugged my foot, the gold lovingly encasing it.

"Not exactly a glass slipper," I whispered, smiling. The statement, it's even better, popped into my head. So, with my heart soaring and my ruby heels clacking, I opened the chipped door and stepped out into the musky dance club air. The pulsing beat of the bass echoed through me, matching the thumping of my heart as I began to descend the stairs in my insane shoes, ready to begin the start of the rest of my life.