I just finished watching this week's Sex and the City which we TiVo'd (Tivo so rocks). It was, of course, hugely funny - every episode this season has been a real gem. But, the shoe sub-plot was pointedly hilarious.
You see, here in Alaska, we always take our shoes off when we enter a home. Always - well almost always - Mom is a militant leave-your-shoes-on activist. So, that pile of shoes in the entry way is an everyday Alaskan scene. Whenever I'm Outside and visit someone's home, I always take my shoes off. And boy do I get some strange looks. We Alaskans forget that the only other folks that remove their shoes are Japanese and Moslems in mosques.
Of course, one's choice of socks or nylons is critical - holes are considered very bad form.
 The Sex in the City coup de grace was the disappearance of Carrie's Manolos. In all my years of Alaskan shoe removal, I've never had a pair of shoes disappear. Of course, I don't wear Manolo's either - my shoes are probably not that appealing. Afterall, Sorels are pretty common.
However, two years ago, Peter and I threw a party at Chez Ski Boy for the pianist, Andre Watts. We had a real crowd and the usual giant pile of shoes. As the party wound down and the last few stragglers were leaving, one of the guests came upstairs looking perplexed. His shoes were gone. Flat not there. He had arrived at the party wearing a nice pair of Italian loafers. There was one pair of loafers remaining in the depleted pile. Those loafers were the same size as the missing loafers, but certainly not Italian - more like Kenney's. And that's the pair of shoes our guest ended up wearing home. He never did discover what happened to his shoes.
9:25:46 PM 
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