We compromised with some improbably named “kitten heels,” which, contrary to what one might think, had nothing to do with cats.
They were heels which were easy to walk in, but which were, nonetheless “very feminine.”
On what basis was this decided, and by whom? Did it matter? I made a mental note to research gender politics and gender identity at some point.
There would be a book about it—there were books about everything.
On this trip, I’d even bought a handbag, judging that my shopper probably wouldn’t be appropriate for a funeral.
The fabric was imprinted with a very jaunty pattern, and I felt it might stand out at a graveside. The wheels could also be a bit squeaky.
The bag I finally settled on was impractical, being far too small to carry, for example, either a hardback book or a bottle of Glen’s.
I examined it when I got home, stroking its glossy leather outer and silky fabric lining.
It had a long gold chain which you simply placed over your shoulder, leaving your hands free.
At further horrendous expense, I’d also bought a black wool coat, single-breasted, knee-length, fitted.
It was warm and plain, characteristics that I found attractive.
Looking at all my purchases, spread across my bed for closer examination,
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