Red Shoes! No way!

When I was in seventh grade flared jeans were going out of style. Now, seventh grade is an awful time for the world to go through a fashion flying change. All you want is to blend in to the wall, not stick out like a sore thumb. And at the time I thought that flared jeans made me automatically a leper. So I begged and begged until Mom took me to Goodwill and (being the stupid sevy I was) I bought the first pair of straight-leg jeans that my hands touched. For a little bit I was elated. Finally! I looked like everyone else! It was the best thing ever. At least for about a month. Then the newness wore off and I started to take issue with shoes. What were these magical automatic-acceptance things that everyone else had? Converse? I had to have some, normal sneakers just didn't cut it anymore. But alas! "Converse" were not to be had at the local thrift store, or my favorite consignment shop, or Walmart! In fact "Converse" were way expensive. 40, 50 dollars?! I didn't have that kind of money lying around! So the magical "converse" were out the window. I went through thirteen year old withdrawals.
Now my Aunt Rachel heard of my predicament and decided to do something about it. One day she showed up at our house with a small paper starbucks bag. Inside the bag was a pair of red shoes. They were slip-ons, made of leather, with non-obtrusive black rubber soles. They were very adult-looking, not trendy or fashionable at all. Aunt Rachel smiled and handed them to me. "Heard that you needed some shoes. These are a little too small for me. You're a seven right?" Not wanting to appear rude or ungrateful I half smiled and took them. As soon as she was gone I took the offending footwear and tossed them in my closet. But she was right, I did need shoes, however unattainable the ones I wanted may have been. So next Monday as I got ready for school I unwillingly put them on with my over-worn straight-leg jeans. I remember being mortified as I got out of the car in front of the building. I was sure that everyone must me staring at my uncool shoes and snickering behind my back. I suffered through my first three classes of the day before lunch, all the while dying from embarrassment.
As I went to go get my lunch I accidentally ran into my first-period English teacher, Mrs. Moore. "Sorry Mrs. Moore." I mumbled. She intimidated me a lot. She was witty, tough, and always well dressed.
"It's quite alright Lydia, don't worry about it." She smiled as she spoke. I began to leave but she stopped me and said, "By the way Lydia, I just wanted to tell you how much I love your shoes. They are so cute." I was shocked.
"These? Really? I don't like them at all." I very unwisely blurted out. "I mean," I hastily recovered, "Bright red isn't very fashionable."
"Oh I disagree." said Mrs. Moore; and then she said something that changed my life, "Lydia, I think that every girl in the world should have at least one pair of red shoes."

After that I wore those shoes almost every day. That one little phrase became my calling card. Whenever someone commented on my shoes I would tell them that I was once told that every girl in the world should have at least one pair of red shoes. I was heartbroken when those shoes wore out. But since then I have never been without a pair of red shoes. These days I'm sixteen and skinny jeans are in, but I'm back in flairs. I own three pairs of beat up converse (one pair bought at Goodwill, one at my favorite consignment shop, and one given to me) and I own three pairs of red shoes (two pairs of heels and one pair of converse).