When I heard that penis shoes exist, I simply had to order a pair. Of course, it took a few weeks to get them, but that was right in time with Lady Gaga's debut of the shoes on American Idol, so I feel very trendy when I walk about town in my Schlong-Stilettos.
I had to send my children to see my mother, in another city, so that I could really strut my stuff in the shoes-- although I am achingly liberal, there are several things I don't want my kids exposed to before they're 25. Penis shoes are one of them.
Now, as I'm headed to the grocery store in my 8-inch heels a few things stop me before I get to my car. 1) I am a disaster in high heels, especially in high-high heels, and, in case you're wondering, there's very little grip on the bottom, er, the tip. You know what I mean-- the end of the penis is the part you walk on (in case your TV had the shoes blurred out whilst you watched that episode), there are no testes, which, if the penis were the other direction, the testes could act as a tripod thus giving me more balance.
2) I am, in my flat flippy floppies, 6 feet tall. It is a beautiful thing to see a 6 foot 8 woman in penis shoes, but it is entirely absurd to watch a woman in penis shoes that has to bend down to get into and out of doorways. Clearly, this problem is fixed by limiting my time in my prêt-a-porter penis shoes to engagements that are outdoors or in places with high ceilings and doorways. Just making note.
But, most importantly, 3) I've paired my amazing new shoes with my normal grocery shopping outfit: sweat pants, no make-up and a pony tail on top of my head. Apparently, even the most normal outfit looks amazingly ghetto when you pair it with the bleeding edge of fashion.
So, back in the house I go, in search of caution tape, fishnets, body glitter and false eyelashes-- and if you caught my blog entitled Wedding Rings And False Eyelashes (published May 1, 2011), you might think I mean a crotch toupée, but I really just mean the feathers you put on your eyes.
I find none of those things, so I pulled out some steak from the freezer thinking I could make myself a meat dress like Lady Gaga wore. But, I felt too much like Silence Of The Lambs while cutting out the dress pattern, so I scratched that idea and put it aside to make a stir fry for dinner instead.
However, still wishing to go out in public in my new shoes (and now needing several stir fry ingredients), I flipped through Google Images of Lady Gaga to see what one might wear with penis shoes. Turns out she provided several options-- thank heaven for blurring the line between performance art and high fashion!
I gathered up some old lace curtains I'd found at a garage sale, some rubber gloves, a plastic tarp I used when I let my students pie me in the face for charity one time (still smelling faintly of rotten whipped cream), a nude coloured body stocking, and an empty milk carton (like I said, I really needed to get to the grocery store) and plugged in my glue gun.
Within a few minutes, I'd created this lovely artist's rendition. Oh yes, finally I could wear my new Skin-Torpedo Peep-toes and not feel like people were going to miss out on the glamor. I mean, really, isn't all this really to make a statement, to get people talking? I'm not doing this for me, of course, I'm doing this to open people's eyes to art and to expose them to what it's like living in the fashion industry. It's a performance, not a representation of who I am. Lady Gaga and I agree on so many different things it's scary.
So, off I truck to the grocery store in my amazing outfit and killer shoes. After I made the rounds, I headed to the park (remember, I'm looking for high ceilings and open spaces so people really can get the full impact of my shoes) and played on the swings (Damn heel/penis caught in the wooden bridge that goes to the slide, had to pull and yank to get my foot out while all the Daddies groaned in pain. Weirdos.). The kids there really loved the cape and thought the outfit most excellent.
And then I decided I would take this amazing outfit to Walmart-- the Walmartians need to see what it's like to wear fashion, not be its victim-- and then to McDonalds (I was getting hungry).
Somewhere between aisle 4 and pet food, I was stopped by several people demanding I put on more clothes and at least cover up my amazing penis shoes. I could not believe it. Moms were shielding their kids from seeing my amazing, free, art.
But what didn't make any sense was that people were accusing me of going to places where none of this was appropriate. I mean, here I was in Walmart, where people buy terribly made clothes while women and children in sweat shops on the other side of the world can't feed themselves on their pay to make these frocks. Why am I doing something immoral?
Every male body has a penis, be it animal or human; the shoes would not have been a controversy if the appendage I was walking on was an arm, or a nose, would they? Then why were they so angry about these penises? I came to these highly populated places because the world needs to see more penis shoes. Take the shame out of sex and it's no longer something to be hidden away. Furthermore, this is ART!
Gaga wore them on American Idol-- let's think about who watches that show-- kids, teens, tweens, moms, grandparents. Actually, I think everyone except me watches American Idol, so if Gaga thought it was appropriate for all walks of life to be exposed to her shoes, then surely people in my small town shouldn't be offended or surprised that this fashion statement would begin appearing around the world. In a few years I'm sure Winners and TJ Maxx will have penis shoes (which will be really quite out of style by then, of course, for the likes of me) and grannys and tweens will rock them to their doctor's appointments and Beiber concerts.
One old lady even said, "This stuff is no different than walking into someone's home and crapping on the carpet; it's rude, disgusting, leaves a permanent mark and doesn't endear you to friends. Look at you! You look like a Hooker Super Hero. Why do you think this is appropriate to wear in public? You and your penis shoes. Oh my Lord. All this stuff has a time and a place. Do you know why it has a time and a place, Ms. Whore? It's so those of us that don't like it know the time and place to avoid." She then whapped me on my shins with her umbrella and wandered away amidst thundering applause.
It took me several minutes to get up off the floor. 8 inch heels are incredibly unweilding, as it turns out. Plus my throbbing shins made the process that much more painful, but once I finally got myself back up, I got angry. I mean, if you don't like me dancing in the aisles of the fabric store because "No one should be forced to listen to the click of my penis shoes while [I] sing "Born This Way"," as one young mother exclaimed while covering her child's eyes and ears, then maybe you should think about the news that blasts over radio stations. Here's one I caught yesterday that I was glad my kids didn't hear:
"And the Supreme Court of Canada ruled today that sex on an unconscious person is illegal. The ruling came about after Joe Schmo was charged with rape when his wife, Nancy, asked him to choke her unconscious and she awoke to him performing sex acts on her."
How is my singing, while wearing penis shoes and my awesome outfit any less public-friendly than that news story? This story played on the conservative radio station that all the soccer moms listen to-- kinda reeks of a double standard, don't you think? Sure, I'm mostly naked (although, I'm in a body stocking. I'm more clothed than you are at the beach), and I'm wearing penis shoes, but at least my kids aren't with me in the store, hearing the news.
Speaking of, I have to go pick them up from my mom's. I've safely hidden away my shoes and outfit-- like I said, I don't want my kids exposed to all that performance shite. My kiddos are supposed to stay innocent, which is why we never watch dirty shows like American Idol. In fact, we watch only the Food Network because both the shows and the commercials are kid-friendly.
Oh, and even though I didn't see anything wrong with it, I didn't wear my penis shoes to dinner tonight because a bunch of people stopped me in the parking lot to inform me that a nice restaurant with great-grandparents, grandparents and children isn't the place for shoe genitalia. Thank heaven I had a pair of flip flops in the car.
In retrospect, my purchase of penis shoes was probably not a great investment; there aren't a lot of places that I go that are penis-shoe friendly. Go figure. On that note, I'm off to the grocery store in my sweats, flip flops, no make-up and with a ponytail on top of my head. What? You find that offensive? Oh honey, you ain't seen nothin' yet-- Ima bust out my "Like a Virgin" dance moves if you don't stop oppressing me. There is just no pleasing some people.
(PS my brother-in-law and my Husband, while playing video games, delighted in coming up with various versions of the word Penis for me and for that I am thankful. I'm also fearful.)
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