As I was getting ready for dinner at Gogi's Restaurant, in Jacksonville, I considered my wardrobe. I could dress up for Gogi's, so I chose my purple-and-blue Komarov dress, with a light, loosely-knit lavender wrap for warmth. As for shoes—always a problem. The black Mary Janes would do; I've been wearing them for fifteen years. But could I possibly, having had foot surgery, wear the elegant, soft-leather, black boots I have kept in the closet, nostalgically, all these many years? 
The last time I wore them, I hobbled with pain and had to take them off, surreptitiously, during the concert. But the foot surgeries, last year and the year before, have meant I hike with 90% less pain. Might I be able to wear my elegant boots now, too?
With the help of a shoe horn I got them on. I zipped them closed over my calves, stood up, and took a tentative step. 
Possible. I wore the boots in the house for the next half-hour. No problem. When it was time to leave, I put the Mary Janes in a bag to take with me. If I had to surreptitiously unzip my boots and ease my feet out of them during dinner, one of my table companions could fetch the Mary Janes from the car so I could walk out of the restaurant shod.
I walked to my car in my boots. I walked into the restaurant. I had a delicious dinner with charming companions and never thought once about my feet. I stood up from the table after dinner and walked to the car. No limping, no hobbling, no calling for other shoes. I drove home and walked into the house, carrying my Mary Janes in the bag.
I am exultant. To be able to hike without pain is a matter of physical joy and a necessity for continuing my favorite activity. To be able to wear my elegant boots is a matter, I am aware, of vanity. But oh, I do enjoy wearing classy shoes again!
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