Husband and I make regular pilgrimages down to south Florida to look in on his aging parents, a situation I wrote about before in Snippets. Visiting my elderly in-laws is not just about familial affection and supporting my spouse; it’s also a clandestine opportunity to indulge my consignment shop passion. Husband’s folks live in Delray, which is right next to Boca Raton, a town with a high proportion of tastefully god-awful rich women who toss off their last season designer togs while it’s still last season.
On a recent Florida visit, I spotted a pair of shoes in my favorite secondhand store. They were flawlessly perfect, black suede lug sole loafers in exactly my size sporting classy silver hardware across the tongue. I brought them to the proprietor, an older British woman who owns the shop with her proudly gay son for whom the store is named, let’s call it Reggie’s Consignments.
I asked Reggie’s Mum what the story was with these silver hardware loafers and she explained that the metal was intended to look like a horse bit. “They’re Gucci, luv. I have a regular lady who gives me exquisite things. Seems she had these delivered to her home and by the time she got around to unwrapping them, she noticed they were the wrong size. Instead of sending them back to Gucci, she just gave them to me with her season’s discards and said to get what I could.”
Now who exactly doesn’t return a pair of $400 shoes to Gucci? I had this mental picture of a pampered woman in a silk dressing gown bathing her toy poodle in champagne. I know, I have a childish mentality when it comes to imagining how the uber rich spend their days, and I must add that I myself have more shoes than might be considered normal, but this Gucci tale just went beyond. The price tag read $150 and Reggie’s Mum said everything was half off that weekend so would I be willing to go $75?
The shoes were to die for and they felt like creamy butterscotch-leather-lined limos for my feet so I offered her $50. I figured that would at least cover the bubbly for Muffy’s next bath. Reggie’s Mum thought so too. Sold.
Spiriting them out of the store, I realized that Husband and Daughter would appreciate my score, but the one who would really feel me on this was Son. Son was the person who set his alarm as a teenager to be first in line at Foot Locker when the new Air Jordans hit the shelves.
I walked the Gucci’s silently into my next sushi dinner with Son and sat down across from him in the booth. Twisting my body like a pretzel, I stuck my right foot into the aisle where he could see it.
OSV: Black suede, Gucci horse bit lug sole loafers. Like new from Reggie’s Consignments, $50.
Son turned sideways and placed his left foot in the aisle next to mine.
SON: Black leather, lace-up Coach half boots. Brand new from Century 21, $79.
OSV: Sharp. But we’re talking Gucci here.
SON: Gucci beats Coach?
OSV: Any day.
SON: Then I guess dinner’s on you.
Daughter’s Featured Fotos demonstrate Basic Point and Shoot
inside the doors of construction
x marks another spot
perspective
wheels