Instead of reading Tolstoy like any proper intellectual and writing an opus on the meaning of life, as I had planned, last weekend, I had to sacrifice saving the world to make an unplanned shopping expedition in celebration of the return of the editor-in-chief of this newspaper.
Here's the Return of Judy Raymond list: Dolce and Gabbana perfume; black and white Bandolino pumps; and some serious blingage, in the form of a silver rosette ring I ordered from a talented designer who, inexplicably, uses the name Artsy Fartsy for her distinguished line.
Thing is, I don't even like silver. I have been a golden girl since my christening when the cute little blessed ring was placed on my finger.
Aaah, the things I do for Ms Raymond.
But that's the kind of gal I am–tireless in the service of others. I ordered Ms Raymond to buy some shoes herself (six-and-a-half English size, I hear), to mark, if not celebrate, her return to the newsroom, but she does not always listen to me, which might be why she has no wrinkles, as well as no purple velvet bell-bottoms.
The right shoes, like the perfect tailored suit, can be like battlegear–empowering. Some people would like to see the editor-in-chief walk the plank. Others want her to kick some serious assets, stomp all over the competition, and get the paper into top of the Market Facts and Opinion polls. Either way, Ms Raymond would need the fabbest footwear. Nobody ever scaled a mountain or conquered in battle in so-so sandals.
Ask Jennifer Lopez, an expert in having the right shoes for the right job. For example, on the day she opened up to newswoman Katie Couric about her divorce from Marc Anthony, she wore a leather tunic and leather pants, and a pair of dominatrix Christian Louboutin patent red-soled high heels with silver spikes, which looked as if they could be used as weapons to nail Marc Anthony's head to a fence.
J-Lo may not understand men very well but the queen knows shoes.
She even wrote a song, Louboutins, which is sort of an anthem for anyone leaving something or someone. "Watch these red bottoms, and the back of my jeans. Watch me go, bye, baby.''
The sentiments just would not be the same if she were belting out, "Watch these vinyl knock-offs.''
Being the best opinonista anyone could ever have, I immediately called up J-Lo on the hotline (a number only her close personal sister-friends possess) and asked her advice on how best I could assist Ms Raymond in putting her best foot forward, after her march through hell.
Like a trooper, J-Lo promised to Fed-Ex an emergency pair of her own Louboutins and also suggested that Ms Raymond change her ringtone to J-Lo's song Mile in these Shoes.
Here's how it goes: "Strangers always got some mess to spread. But I have learned to flick them off. Can't walk a mile in my YSL's. I strap 'em on and I walk it off.''
So, walk it off, Ms Raymond, walk it off. Let the pages of the paper speak for themselves. The readers will know well enough whether the newsroom is packed by cowardly lions or actual journalists doing a difficult job.
When things get rough, sit back, put those red soles on the desk, and turn up the volume on J-Lo in Mile in these Shoes.
"Even if they try they still can't walk a mile in these shoes. They couldn't even lace 'em up right. Honey, these pumps are too big to fill."
Step lively to wrenchelsa@hotmail.com