Since I began living with Katya, I stopped buying into the whole "Ginger Rogers could do all the same moves that Fred Astaire did, but backwards and in high heels." Allow me to explain:
Katya is not the first woman I've lived with. I once lived with girl for nearly six years before that ended in flames, and I am experienced with the intricacies of cohabitation. Between breaking up with that girl and moving in with Katya I had the opportunity to live several wonderful years on my own. The habits I grew accustomed to in that time, and the fact that Katya is so much more domesticated and feminine then that North American girl I lived with before, has created a hitherto unexplored world of playing house. Because of this, I have made some remarkable discoveries.
For instance, I never knew that I needed a bedskirt. I'd heard of them, but always thought they were for real people with real homes. Apparently that's me, because now I'm the proud owner of not just one, but a couple of bedskirts!
Ironed clothes is another strange phenomena. I didn't realize that they were not only necessary, but also possible! I never really learned how to iron and became used to leaving my clothes out at night so the goblins could arrange them all nicely for me by morning. Well, no more goblins.
Another thing I learned was that women's high-heeled shoes are secret high-tech gadgets that transcend the known laws of physics.
I have always had my one pair of sneakers. Usually they were the only thing in my hallway closet (my jacket was usually draped over the back of the sofa). That's all that ever occupied any hall closet I owned while I lived alone. Well not since I began living with a Russian.
Today my shoes are perched precariously atop a giant, multicolored mountain of shoes of all shapes and sizes and glitters. Katya has shoes falling out of the sky. Some of them I wouldn't even have considered shoes; heels so thin that there is no way they could support a grown human's weight. I'm often tempted to skewer cubes of meat on a pair of shoes and throw them over the barbecue! If I get popcorn stuck in my teeth while watching a movie, there's always a nice pair of stilettos within easy reach to pick the kernels out with.
Katya is obsessed with shoes. She can spot a pair of shoes that she covets from a mile away, like a shark smelling one particle of blood in a million particles of water. We'll be watching TV and a commercial for car insurance will come on. A professional woman in a business jacket and skirt will tell us why we should switch providers like she did. While I'll be mentally weighing a cost-benefit analysis of what they're offering and comparing to my current insurance provider, Katya will suddenly blurt out "Ooh, I like her shoes!"
Really? Her shoes? Of course I shouldn't be surprised. After a couple of years of living together I've learned that Katya likes nearly EVERYBODY's shoes. Any show, any advert, any woman walking down the street, any store window, even a CARTOON in the newspaper will elicit a sudden "Ooh, nice shoes".
If my suspicions are correct, and I usually think they are, then this means that women around the world haven't been walking on high heels, no, they've been hovering on a soft jet of fresh spring air shot out of the heels of their secret ultra-modern shoes. Think of the hoverboard in Back To The Future II.
Which is why I don't buy that Ginger Rogers was more talented than Fred Astaire. Heck, give me a hoverboard and even I'll take the king of dance for a spin!
You've fooled me up until now, ladies, but I'm on to you thanks to Katya's obsession with shoes. Well played, ladies. Well played.
|Proof my theory may be true!|