Category: Style & Fashion

Just another childless cat lady

It has been a few weeks since I’ve written, and I don’t have any excuses. You know, just another childless cat lady, making poor choices, doing what we do.

In spite of my shortcomings as a fertility goddess, things are remarkably good. Although I think Joe Biden is an excellent president, I believe he did the right thing by dropping out of the race. For the first time in months, I’m optimistic.

Is anyone else feeling it?

Kamala is bringing new energy to the election, and she  has my full support, even if it turns out she likes dogs better.

I had my annual oncology appointment, and while I’m not afraid like I used to be, it always feels great to walk out of there with a clean bill of health. It has been 25 years since my first cancer (ovarian) and nine years since the second (breast).

This time they asked me to see the nurse practitioner instead of the doctor, and although it felt like getting demoted, I understand the doctor has to prioritize. I don’t have active cancer, and I’m sure she’s got a boatload of people who do. I asked the nurse practitioner if I even need come anymore, and she said yes, mostly because I’m BRCA-positive. Lots can go wrong on the genetic front.  

Sadly, I am due for a colonoscopy, but my primary care physician will make that referral when I see her for my annual physical in August.  I’ve heard there are some new and better ways to do the prep, but I don’t believe any of that applies to me, since I am at higher risk.

I have been out and about more than usual for reasons I’ll go into later. And much to my surprise, wearing something besides golf or workout clothes has been rather enjoyable. I haven’t cared about fashion in years, but I’ve made an effort to look put together, and it makes me feel a little more with it, if you know what I mean. I still don’t want a job, but I’ve been thinking about other activities that might give me a sense of purpose.

The shoes I wore to work have all been purged. I still have some boots left, but everything else is Hoka or Birkenstock, so I’ve been wearing my “dress Hokas.” They look nice with my favorite pants, a tee and a denim jacket. I’m calling it retirement chic. It’s still hot outside, but I need the jacket for air conditioning, which always freezes me out.

I’ve even been blow drying my hair (since it’s not stuffed under a golf hat) and have had a lot of compliments on the cut and color – my natural silver. I’m so glad I gave up the dye.

So, I sort of like having somewhere to go besides the golf course, but I assume that could get old fast. But we shall see. In the meantime, I need to go brush the cat.

Not messing with my face

I’ve been thinking about Madonna’s face, and I’m guessing that’s exactly what she wanted. Famous people accustomed to the limelight can’t seem to give it up, so why not just maim yourself to get everyone talking? I don’t believe it has anything to do with ageism. I mean, she doesn’t look younger, only worse, but at least she’s in the headlines again.

Personally, I’m more focused on healthy habits and creature comforts than messing with my aging face. Do I sometimes do a little mirror surgery to see what I’d look like with everything tightened right up? Sure, but that’s not how I want to go down.

For example, I went to the dermatologist yesterday and actually had to put on real clothes. Black leggings, black t-shirt, black denim jacket, white sneakers, turquoise earrings, no makeup and a shock of silver hair. I must admit, I looked in the mirror and thought, damn, I look cool.

As I see it, you can dye your hair and inject your face, and that might create the illusion of youth, but I’m pretty sure they know how old we are. My thinking is that silence is a position of weakness, and being silent erodes confidence over time. I refuse to cower.

Aging should be a liberating experience. Wear what you want, say what you think, live how you like and like how you look – perhaps it is the absence of these things that makes aging such a drag for so many people.

But not us! We’re digging it, right?

So, the latest in retirement creature comforts – linen sheets. I mean, if you can afford this, do it before you die. I bought mine here. I can’t quite describe the comfort – soft but not silky. Not warm, not cool. The fabric feels heavier, but air flows through it. Dale preferred silky cotton, but he’s converted now. There’s no turning back for me.

Another indulgence I started this year is a 90-minute full-body massage every three weeks.  I love it. Yes, even though it does hurt a bit when she digs into those trigger points. The pain kind of scared me at first. I thought she had uncovered some sort of rare muscle-wasting disease, and I almost quit going because I thought, well, better not to know.

But now, I just breathe my way through it and it starts to feel good. Aside from the pure pleasure of having my creaky old body tended to, I do think massage is nothing but good news for your immune system, and it helps with stress, circulation, muscle pain and flexibility.

So, back to aging faces. I love the artist Jesse Dayton, and I am absolutely crazy about this reboot of Brand New Cadillac with Samantha Fish. Check out the drummer!

Old and cool. Inspiration for us all.

Riding out the storm

The weather here in California is still quite something. We discovered a leaky window that will have to be fixed, but we’re OK. A little sick of each other. Sending messages back and forth through the cat.

I’ve been hunkered down in the house riding out the storm. I finished Sea of Tranquility. I liked it, but sometimes that time travel stuff blows my mind. For the record, I also have trouble understanding how the James Webb Space Telescope sees galaxies billions of years old.  You can explain it to me all day long, but my head is still going to explode.

A good legal thriller is Scott Turow’s Suspect. Pinky, the protagonist, is a funny and smart screw-up trying to make it as a private investigator working for a lawyer. She’s also bisexual, and that’s an interesting aspect of the story.

You kind of have to wonder how a guy creates a character like that, but I guess that’s what writers do. Still, how does he know it’s authentic? Or maybe in fiction, there is no authenticity. Just characters as the writer envisions them. He’s an excellent writer, and I thought the character was great, but I’m assuming someone out there will say he got it wrong.

Anyway, I’ve been on the lookout for a new crime series to read. My original plan was to follow up on the Three Pines TV show and read the Louise Penny books. But they are quite popular right now, so I started Dead Irish, the first book in the Dismas Hardy series by John Lescroart. Dismas is a Vietnam veteran, lawyer and bartender in San Francisco. I love it so far and put the next one on my library reserve list.

The good news is there are 19 of them in all!

On the medical front, I saw the doctor about my blood pressure and took my machine with me because the readings were so odd. My BP was fine on her machine and quite elevated on mine. She tried several times and finally asked me how old it was. I dunno, eight, 10 years?

As it happens, these things are not designed to last that long. Some articles I read said two to three years max. She advised me to get a new one, which I did, and my readings are all now consistent with hers. That was a big sigh of relief.

This is my public service announcement (without guitar). Please see if your blood pressure monitor needs to retire, too.

Finally, I will share that I still dream about work quite a bit, even after five years. This week’s nightly drama was about clothes and dressing appropriately for the office. I can’t remember details from the dream, but there was some level of bullshit about not wearing the right outfit.

No big surprise, really. I did struggle with the corporate “dress for success” model and squandered a lot of money trying to fit in. I didn’t land on a good look for me until later in my career, but it was enough to get me to the finish line.

I ended up keeping just a few great pieces, and I even though I told you years ago I was donating them, I couldn’t quite make myself do it. Still hanging in my closet, waiting for the miracle …which would be like me, dressing up for anything anymore.

Men probably don’t do this, but women seriously check each other out at work. What you wear is more than a corporate uniform. It’s also a peer-to-peer evaluation system, a hierarchy of sorts and one I’m glad to see in the rear view mirror.

Another retirement bonus! Nobody cares what I wear anymore, maybe not even me.  

Can fashion motivate you to exercise?

I’ve written before about what a struggle it is to find a swimsuit. I know everyone, and I mean everyone, has something that makes finding a decent swimsuit difficult. As for me, I have a long torso and am flat following breast cancer and a mastectomy without reconstruction. I’ve never worn a prosthesis, and they say the swimming version is particularly awful.

One would think racing-style suits would work for someone like me, since most of them don’t have bras. But then there’s that long body thing. Racing suits seem to be made for short-waisted people. I tried on a bunch at Dick’s Sporting Goods, and none of them worked. I went to Big 5 at the suggestion of a reader, and they had closed their fitting rooms due to the pandemic.

Well, I returned to Big 5, and the fitting rooms were open this time. I kept sizing up until I found the sweet spot. I discovered Nike swimsuits were cut larger, but by the time I got them to fit my butt and my torso, they were too big in the chest.

Speedo and TYR are cut smaller, so I had to go up several sizes – a 38, which is equivalent to an American size 12. Kind of shocked me, but they fit! I ended up buying three. It was like Christmas in July.

How come I didn’t figure this out sooner? Probably because I convinced myself I couldn’t possibly be a size 12. Another lesson in the perils of vanity sizing.

I’m sure I will regret this, but I have included a picture of me trying it on AGAIN at home, just to be sure. All three were keepers.

More and more women are choosing to go flat after a mastectomy, and I know it’s a difficult decision. Is it weird? Will you look like a freak? I hope this visual evidence helps those who might be weighing this important decision. Being breastless is not the end of the world. At least we don’t have to worry about gravity taking over!

Swimming laps in a suit like a “real” swimmer has motivated me to swim more. I’ve always been the type who mindlessly swims lap after lap, but now I’ve started interval training, some long and slow laps and some sprints – and it’s super-fun. Definitely breaks up the boredom, and getting my heart rate up releases endorphins I can’t seem to get from walking or golf, the anti-endorphin.

It just took a little something extra to push me out of my comfort zone. I suppose it’s kind of embarrassing to think a simple change of clothes could motivate me to exercise, but then I remembered the confidence I felt when I looked good at work. Maybe it’s the same in retirement.

Dress for success!

Yes, it’s fashion, but it’s also about form and function.

This sudden burst of energy has also made me re-think how I dress for other activities. Maybe it’s just me, but even a casual walk feels better when you make an effort to look like you mean it. I see a lot of cyclists with fancy outfits, most of them are men, and I can’t help but think having a sports “uniform” motivates them as well.

Do you make a special effort to dress for your sport or outdoor activity? Does it help motivate you to exercise?

No-name style

Number 26

My husband and I are visiting Mendocino in April, and as we prepare to re-enter civilization after our pandemic lockup, I’ve given some thought to style. That’s a reference to my personal style, which is practically nonexistent. I’m pretty sure I’m not alone in this dilemma, so I’ll tell you where I landed and see if that’s any help.

Right off the bat, just thinking about it stirred up a few revelations. One day I woke up and realized I am no longer a skirt person. Just like that, and now I am at last ready to donate most of my work attire. I have one jacket and one pair of slacks that are keepers, but the rest of it is in the wind.

I’ve been wanting to do something about those lovely pieces hanging in my closet for quite some time now, but I wasn’t ready to let go. I could still visualize myself wearing them, mostly because I was a thoughtful shopper and only bought nice clothes that looked good and fit me well. But also because I associated wearing those outfits with the peak of my career, which was productive and prosperous.

Part of me was still clinging to that image. But as I worked through the emotional baggage I believe is linked to my chronic back pain, I made peace with some rough times I experienced toward the end of my career, and now I think, well, that was a good life, but I’ve moved on.

Now in my fifth year of retirement, let’s just say I’ve laid productivity to rest, although I’m counting on enough prosperity to make it to the finish line. In the meantime, I’d like to look good, but I don’t care about making a fashion statement. Being invisible is fine with me.

Invisible is such a harsh word. I like to think of it as stealth.

All that said, I was still thinking I needed a little help getting dressed, so I spent some time cruising the style quizzes.

That’s time I’ll never get back. When they asked do you like this outfit or that outfit, my answers were always no. I kept wanting to add, I hate it. When they listed celebrity style icons to see which ones I most identified with, the response was none of the above. I was like who in the hell is that person? And jumpsuits? Doesn’t anyone else have to pee all the time?

I Googled some terms to see if anything interesting would appear. Athleisure came to mind, but I see that as 50 ways to love your leggings. I think I’m somewhere in the middle of sleek chic, casual and minimalist. Even my golf attire is pretty simple. I had a brief flirtation with skorts, but that time is gone.

My favorite outfits for pretty much anything are stretchy but slim-fitting with minimal fuss. Pockets. Machine wash, tumble dry. Lots of black and white. Denim. Gray for a pop of color.

No adorable shoes. It’s Birkenstocks and Hoka One One trail running shoes or boots for dress-up.

If I leave the house, it’s usually to play golf, walk, swim or go to the grocery store. No-name style meets my needs. I feel good about how I present myself to the world and can kick it up a notch if I have to. This is my key point. We don’t need style quizzes. We just need to be confident with our choices. Trust that we know what we like and run with it!

Anyway, our Mendocino trip is only for two nights, but we’re excited. A room with an ocean view. Wine tasting. Scenic wonders. Dinner in a French restaurant. As for what to wear, I’m comfortable with the simple pieces in my closet. My Headlands Hybrid Cargo Tights can go anywhere when paired with a tee, a denim jacket and my signature turquoise jewelry. Birks or boots, depending on the weather.

It’s crazy, but I still have this urge to call it something. Sporty retirement minimalist California casual?

Undyed and loving it

Manchego and Chorizo Muffins

Whilst relaxing outside with a beer after a round of golf, one of the women noticed I got my hair cut. I took off my hat to show her the full effect, and she was surprised by all the gray. She liked it and said it was pretty, and then one of the perpetual blondes at the table said she wasn’t ready to go there yet.

Go where? To the land of the undyed, where we are forced to walk the Earth looking our age? I’ve heard others say they are too vain or they aren’t ready to give up. I’m plenty vain, but for me, it’s more about the complete package than simply the color of my hair.

I actually believe I look better than I ever have, and just so you know, my prefrontal cortex is kinda hot, too.

Putin on the blitz

Not to take anything away from the Ukrainians, but I’m having a hard time with Russia. Not the people, of course, but I am so angry with Putin. Our planet is dying, the world has suffered through a pandemic – more than 5 million people dead – and just as it looks like we might be getting a break – all he can do is think about killing some more? For a land grab?

I know the whole thing is more complicated than that, and Dale, an amateur military historian, would be more than happy to explain it to me in excruciating detail. However, one more Hitler documentary, and this marriage is over!

Oh, and let’s not forget about all the fucktards who have cozied up to this sociopath over the past years and still have trouble saying anything bad about him. And it’s not just Trump, either. If I’ve learned anything over the past two years, it’s that I know nothing, but I’m thinking the lovefest with Putin has got to be about money. When all else fails, follow the money.

While I’m not a religious person, I join those of you in praying for peace and hoping there’s a way out of this mess.

Savory Baking

I absolutely positively did not need another cookbook, but I’m weak that way. I purchased The Savory Baker by the folks at America’s Test Kitchen.  I was still debating what to try first, when Dale flipped through it and said he was smitten with the idea of Manchego and Chorizo Muffins. It’s actually the first recipe in the book, so I’m guessing he didn’t flip too far. Still, hat’s off to Dale keeping it simple.

The muffins include a variety of flavor bombs, including Manchego cheese, Spanish chorizo, fresh parsley, jarred red peppers and sour cream. I made them yesterday, and we reheated them for breakfast this morning. All I can say is yum.

Next will be Jalapeño Cheddar Scones. But then we would eat jalapeño cheddar dragon poop.

Adventures of a gentlewoman cannabis farmer

I took a break from growing cannabis, because it seemed like we had plenty, but it’s kind of like wine in a box – it goes fast. I started an indoor plant from seed this week, and it will soon be time to buy a clone in an attempt to successfully grow a plant outdoors. Last year’s clone didn’t make it – not enough sun in the flower bed – so this time I’m growing it in a pot in the middle of the yard. That should maximize sunnage.

Although I do imbibe, my favorite use for cannabis is for balm, which is featured on my downloads page. It’s a little miracle cream for all parts achy. You can buy the commercial product where it’s legal, but it is more expensive than making it yourself. I am not a fan of CBD-only products. If they work for you, or that’s all you can get, who cares? But I have found products made with the whole plant to be more effective.

I attended a cannabis education program when I first retired, and I see the same folks are offering an online course to earn a budtender certificate. OK, so I don’t want to be a budtender, because that looks too much like work, but maybe I’d like to know what they know? Let’s just say I have a learning orientation.

The self-paced course might keep me from ruminating on all the gloom and doom. I mean, I know that’s what Jalapeño Cheddar Scones are for, but every little bit helps.

Trying not to worry

Riley

It feels like everything is going to shit, that maybe this is the beginning of the end, but I keep telling myself not to worry about things I can’t control. And I am reminded of a scene from Lord of the Rings:

“I wish it need not have happened in my time,” said Frodo.

“So do I,” said Gandalf, “and so do all who live to see such times. But that is not for them to decide. All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given us.”

As I’ve muddled my way through retirement, I’ve pretty much let go of the idea that I need to accomplish anything. Just hanging out, enjoying simple pleasures. Trying not to worry but worrying anyway about Riley, our cat, and why he likes Dale better. It can’t just be about the food.

However, sometimes I get this idea – I can’t quite reach it – but it feels like something might be pulling me in a new direction. As per usual, I have few clues as to what that might be.

My prediction is that I’ll discover something special to write about, I’ll do some sort of long-distance walk or I’ll find a new focus for my cooking obsession. As I reflect on these speculations, it occurs to me all are a search for a singular passion, which I don’t appear to have. Always the dabbler, we’ll just have to wait and see what comes of my magical thinking.

I’m trying not to stress out about anything. Maybe retirement doesn’t need to be orchestrated. Just live it and do your best to stay healthy and happy. Or maybe it’s a cycle, and you just have to ride out each phase until the next one appears. I don’t know, but I’m open to endless possibilities.

I do these deep breathing exercises in bed before I even get up. It’s almost a form of meditation, and I think that’s when all will be revealed. Until then, I continue to putz around, taking care of things that perhaps don’t matter in the big picture but seem to provide a sense of steady comfort.  

Whatever happens, my hair will look good. When I got my hair lopped off in early December, the stylist said I would need regular trimmings about every six weeks. I eagerly signed up, even though I’ve previously been resistant to the whole salon regime. They say never surrender, unless you’re 66 and your hair looks like crap.

I canceled my first trim due to Omicron. My hair still looked better than it ever did, but I absolutely loved the shorter bob. The rescheduled appointment was this week! Our Covid numbers are way down, but at this point, I didn’t care if Godzilla breezed into town, I was getting a haircut. I’m delighted with the results. And yes, I wore a mask.

This might be the vaccine microchip talking, but I’ve actually had an urge to go shopping. Like not online and for real. It’s hard to imagine I could need anything beyond what’s delivered to my doorstep, but going to the mall seems like such a quaint thing to do.

Although we didn’t have much money, my mother loved clothes and was always good for a trip to The Broadway. It’s gone now. I vividly remember waiting outside with great anticipation for the doors to open before a big sale and was always enthralled with the lingerie section upstairs, where there was a big glass case of fancy peignoir sets. Oh my!

The peignoirs were gone, too, by the time I got old enough to wear them. I do like fancy undies and may splurge if I should make it to said mall. Although I remember the owner of a lingerie store telling me, “If you wait until you can afford it, you’ll look like hell in it.”

I’m well into the second half of that sentence, but I also need swimwear, which is difficult to order over the internet and particularly difficult for me since I chose to go flat after my mastectomy. It will take an N95 and perhaps medication to get me through swimsuit shopping.

I’ve gone back and forth on the whole streaming music thing, and I have no qualm with anyone’s decision one way or the other. There are no saints in this story. However, I’ve decided to give Spotify the big FU for supporting Joe Rogan and switch to Amazon Music Prime.

While I don’t think my decision puts a dent in the universe and in no way settles the myriad issues over music streaming in general, I’ve read Amazon pays artists slightly more. But that might be smoke and mirrors. At the end of the day, go with your gut and try not to worry.

Crazy old lady plogger

One of my regular walking routes passes by three schools – elementary, middle and high school. I try to avoid walking when the students are out and about, not that it isn’t entertaining. The fashion show alone is worth the price of admission. All I can think is, my mother would have killed me.

Anyway, I woke up from my customary daze one day and realized there was a lot of trash along the route. It occurred to me I could pick it up, with proper outfitting, of course. At first, I was like, ick, why should I clean up after the little bastards? But then my higher self emerged, and I started thinking about supplies.

Picking up litter while exercising is sometimes called plogging, an activity that started in Sweden. Sometimes people wear rubber gloves and pick up trash with their hands. It has been said bending and stooping is good for you, but I can assure you, it is not good for me.

I purchased grabbers on Amazon for $13.99. The first time I went out, I took a plastic trash bag, but it was awkward to hold and difficult to keep open wide for depositing the litter. An Internet search led me to Bigmouth Bagger, which features an over-the-shoulder litter bag holder made by a retiree in Virginia. Cost was $37.05. Free shipping, and it came quickly.

Other accessories include:

Aside from looking stylish, I very much enjoy plogging and am happy to do something positive for my community. So far, I’ve been sticking to the paved trails. I see trash in the median, which is gnarly, but I seem to fill up a bag just fine without going down in there.

There may come a day when I’d do the ditch, but I’d need backup to watch for traffic, snakes, etc. And certainly bullet-proof pants. Not my fancy Athleta tights. Then again, I may never go in there.

I carry a 13-gallon bag, which is mostly full when I’m done. The new rig from Bigmouth Bagger makes it easy and comfortable. Totally worth the money.

There are some items I just won’t mess with. Bottles with visible amounts of liquid in them. I can’t really tell if the lid is sealed, and I don’t want to deal with the potential mess. Anything big, heavy or sloppy will have to wait for a more stalwart plogger.

Music makes the time pass quickly. I’ve also made some new friends who stop to thank me or express an interest in plogging as well. Litter sucks, and people seem to appreciate efforts to clean it up.

What do you suppose is the number one litter of choice?

You guessed it. Masks. Miscellaneous plastic, odd bits of paper and Styrofoam, candy wrappers and empty plastic bottles round out the list.

Just so you know, the grabber is multi-purpose. I use it to wave back at people and more importantly, to spin it around in time to the music. That might be why they call me the crazy old lady plogger.

You don’t think they really call me that, do you?

The haircut I didn’t want

Yes, a haircut. I wanted long wild goddess hair. I swore I would never get the classic middle-age bob, but at 66, I’m beyond middle age, so I’m going in. Now I have what I hope is a stylish version of the haircut I didn’t want, and I love it!

I have such fine hair to begin with, and it is thinning as I get older. I think this cut makes the most of what I have. Sometimes you just have to accept reality.

With this cut, I gave up the tail. Meaning ponytail. I will not miss it. I was wearing my hair up most of the time because it looked so scraggly, and I won’t miss that, either. I will add a little care and maintenance.

I told my stylist I’m willing to spend 10 minutes a day on it, and I’m OK using a blow dryer. But I only want to use my head as a tool for shaping – no curling or smoothing tools, just blowing it back and forth and a little bit of a round brush to get the right look. I shocked my stylist when I said I would accept a haircut that required trimming every six weeks. She’s used to seeing me once or twice a year.

I got it cut yesterday and was stunned to wake up with great second-day hair. So, maybe 10 minutes every other day?

Now that I’m getting Social Security, I feel a little more generous with my spending. I mean, I didn’t really need those checks to get my hair done regularly, but something in me embraced the idea of a minimalist retiree who never goes to a salon. But I’m over that.

When she finished, I said, “Yeah, that looks like a woman ready to burn through her Social Security.”

It’s not really about the Social Security, although I do like to joke about it. Actually, I’ve been so sick of all the miserable news in the world, and the new kitchen lifted my spirits beyond anything I ever expected.  

Except for golf, I’ve been holed up for two years, and even if it’s another two years thanks to the Ohmygod variant, I decided it’s time to make more of an effort. In some form or fashion, I aim to rejoin the land of the living.

I even pushed back my cuticles and buffed my nails. Filled in the bald patches on my eyebrows. And got dressed in real clothes just to hang around the house.

Living large.

Happy feet

The Birkenstock Kyoto and a golf tan.

One of the greatest things about retirement, especially for women, is we no longer have to wear uncomfortable shoes. Or worry about a golf tan.

I tried hard to find work-appropriate footwear that didn’t torture my feet but mostly came up short. No stilettos for me. For some, those thin tapering towers are considered “power” shoes, but they just seemed ridiculous.

Not that I didn’t like expensive shoes. I threw a lot of money at fancy footwear. Ballet flats were chic but never supportive enough for me. Designer “comfort” heels were marginally better, but oh, they sure did look nice. I did that for a couple of years when I was trying to compete with the big girls before I said no more and switched to shoes with thick platform soles and fat rubber-like heels.

Toward the end, when I figured no one was looking anymore, I took to wearing my Birkenstock London’s with black tights and pleated skirts. Somehow, it worked. Or at least I thought it did!

These days I wear Hoka One One for sports and Birkenstock for pretty much everything else. I do have some beautiful low-heeled boots and will wear them with skinny jeans tucked in for winter wine tasting, as that seems to be the outfit of choice for such endeavors. Seriously, it’s like a uniform.

Birkies last practically forever, so it’s not like I needed new shoes, but dag, I saw the Kyoto and was smitten. I kept putting it off, and they’d be out of stock by the time I was ready to buy. When I found black in my size, I went for it.

I love this shoe. As it gets cooler, I think the new Birkies will look great with leggings or my favorite Headlands Hybrid Cargo Tight from Atheta. My winter staple. I have three pairs and now consider jeans dress attire.   

It seems the Kyoto is a popular style. It comes in cool colors, but a lot of sizes are out of stock no matter where you shop – Birkenstock, Zappos, Amazon – all of the above. If I ever see Ochre in my size, resistance is futile.

May happy feet be with you.