It was a perfectly normal day. And I was engaged in perfectly normal activities. Running a few errands, then a quick stop at the store to pick-up a bottle of wine for dinner. Now, I have to admit, I can easily get side-tracked for an hour (or longer) once I get looking at bottles of wine. I like to see where they originated, and when. I like to examine the labels. And, I admit, I have been known to pass over some very drinkable wine just because its label wasn’t aesthetically pleasing to me. Being in a wine shop is somewhat akin for me as being in a book store. I lose track of time. I am swept along between the rows–touching, reading, imagining.

But, not this day. Being aware of my tendency, (some may call it a weakness) I was entering this store on full-alert. I would not get side-tracked. I would not allow myself to get charmed by the velvet-tongued Bordeaux. And, I definitely would not even look at all those charming, heart-stealing Aussies. No. I would be like a race-horse with blinders. Eyes focused on the goal, I would be in and out of there in 5 minutes. I was a woman in charge of her own destiny.

A dangerous-looking Chilean whispered something rather intriguingly as I rounded the first corner. I drew an appreciative glance over his rock-hard body, then forced my eyes to the floor. And that’s where I spotted them. The most amazing shoes I have ever seen.  Now, these were not your standard fashion statement shoes. Sarah Jessica Parker will not be seen wearing them next season–or any season for that matter!

They were orange. Well, more like a remembrance of orange. But, what was truly fascinating about them is that they were duct-taped together. Great liberal swaths of bold silver duct-tape wrapped over and around  and back over them again. I was mesmerized. I covertly followed those shoes around the store. The spicy-mouthed Chilean had no chance with me at all this time as I sauntered by.

I watched as the woman wearing the shoes paid for her wine and left. Now, hopelessly behind schedule, I paid for my Chilean and two Aussies and followed her outside. I stood, watching her orange and silver shoes as they walked down the sidewalk, my imagination already forming the character who would bring them back to life in my novel No Story to Tell. And I almost felt like I should call out to the woman and thank her for letting me borrow her shoes.