The pain of my pink Piccolinas … but, so-o-o worth it, my prideful self thought when I was younger and pursuing the fashion runway of acceptance, and looking good.

At least that was my strategy when taking my very first earned all-by-myself paycheck, the results of my very first job, to purchase that rosy glow of pointed bliss. Even today, my toes knot up with the memories of: Piccolinas equal pain, which equals perilous fashion, resulting in the acceptance of teen beauty on parade — aaaaaugh!!

So, most of you are asking, “What the heck are Piccolinas?”

Well, they were just about the most sought-after fashion statement on the face of this earth in the late 1960s. Although very pointedly pointed, and did I mention the pain, it seems if the girls did not have Piccolinas, then they wished they did. Or if they were the owner of a pair, then they wanted more and in different colors!

Today we would call the phenomenon “styling.” Oh, they were hot, painful, but hot!

My first pair was purchased in the spring of the year, and the color was a strawberry ice cream float pink, yummy to the eyes as I joined the Easter Parade … slippered feet first!

My second pair of Piccolinas was black patent leather, pairing up nicely with a white embroidered sundress, or even that essential little black dress suitable for church or summer outings. Uhmmm, the Glam of it all! A pink and prissy girly girl — was there a little pride there?

What fun! My first purchase made with my first paycheck, but as I looked in my closet the other day, shoes, shoes, shoes, everywhere! I could clearly see my choices had not changed too much — that is until last Sunday morning.



New purchases



So, last Saturday when I breezed through the front door of my home with two packages securely tucked under my arm and a big smile on my face, those who know me best could be sure … it must be new shoes! And there was a plus — the plus being a matching handbag!

As usual I couldn’t wait to kick off my old shoes, and give a turnaround in the new ones. It’s just that my husband and two sons happened to be in the vicinity as I took my maiden walk all around the house in those “just darling” shoes.

Practically in unison, the three of them (it’s alarming they all think so much alike) gave an unrequested comment and it went something like this, “You’ve got to be kidding!!”

I was stunned as I looked down at my little black-and-white strappy sandals with a beaded bow on the toes, what could be more charming, and I had the handbag to match. Oh, pooh, I thought, they’re just men. I mean, after all of the time I had spent trying to train my sons to be more charming, more polished, they turned out to be just men after all.

Undeterred, I wore the little black-and-white gems to church the next morning with great expectations. Of course, I took the matching bag as well, requiring a purse-stuff-exchange — putting in only the necessary items, such as lipstick, mints, tissues, you know, all of the good stuff.

I meandered through the downstairs entry hall of the church giving plenty of twirls and turns to display the shoes of the century!

It was working! I already had three excited compliments, “Oh, those are such cute shoes!” And that was before I had entered the elevator taking me to a larger group of prospective shoe admirers — and don’t forget the matching bag!!

By the time I reached the choir room I was the lady of the hour! So much commotion had gone on about my little darlings, with matching bag, I regretted having to leave my little bag in my choir cubbyhole during church service.

I contemplated situating the bag on my arm and carrying it into the choir loft with me, but decided the aqua-colored choir robe would not coordinate with the black-and-white bliss … why make the choir robe look plain and unadorned? I wouldn’t do that to my choir robe, so I left my little matching friend in the cubbyhole, and that’s when it hit me!

Oh, my gosh! I had locked my keys in my van.



Sudden realization, a lesson learned



In the heat of the moment of exchanging handbags, which I had done in the van after arriving at the church parking lot, I mistakenly put the car keys in the wrong bag.

But worst than that, I had also locked up my husband’s keys, my debit card, personal checks, a little bit of cash and all ID’s such as driver’s license, etc. Gulp! Hey, I may have looked good that morning, but I was in a mess!

By this time my husband had taken his place in the orchestra and had begun tooting on his bari-sax. I stumbled to take my seat in the choir loft as I considered waving wildly to get my husband’s attention, but this is a televised church service … oh, what to do?

What I decided to do was to listen to the sermon, enjoy the beautiful music and make myself unimportant … it’s all about me, it’s all about me, became just plain out silly!

As our minister read the scripture emphasizing the theme of his message, God must work through us … we humans can’t run the show, but take our Lord’s lead and allow His will to be done as we submit to His call, and that pride is our big enemy. Whew!

I mean, its not that the Lord is troubled with me for wearing my cute new shoes (with matching bag) and they really are cute … oops, there I go again. But the problem is, the way I see it, I was enjoying the pain too much for the sake of pride — a pride that I can trace all the way back to pink Piccolinas. That’s when I decided to get back in tune with the real reason I attend church.

Oh, and the locked up van … our good church friends, the Staceys, our Christian friends, drove us home, and after a quick stop for burgers and fries, we enjoyed a good laugh over my morning.

And I had thought the pain of the Piccolinas were worth the gain … the gain of acceptance, of pride, of popularity. But now I know, actually I’ve always known, but I had to be reminded … the pain of pride may hurt us, but it is an eternal hurt with our glorious Savior, our Redeemer, our Rock, and we can’t hurt Him.

Yes, as I sat in the choir loft that very morning, I made a decision.

I know I will never be perfect, not in this life, but I can try. I must try to allow the Lord’s good work to flow through me, and with God’s help I can do that, and maybe sometimes, just sometimes, the Lord won’t mind if I dress up special … I’ll just be careful with the pride part.



Anne McKee is a retiree and freelance writer who lives in Meridian.