{The Yellow Shoes by Lori Walker}

I totally copied and pasted this because it makes me laugh and cry at the same time and I wanted to share. Plus, I don't want to forget. The link to her blog is http://lorijwalker.wordpress.com/

So, Lo, if you stroll over here, I'm asking for retroactive permission to post.

Without further ado, this was written by my cousin {well, technically, Scott's but she likes me more than him, so I've claimed the rights:}

LOVE it!

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I suppose my quest for being fabulous was inevitable. Both of my grandmothers–while salt-of-the-earth, roll-up-your-sleeves-and-roll-out-the-dough kind of ladies–have always been fashionable in their own way. So it’s in my DNA as well as my DKNY.

My maternal grandmother, Granny Eck, believes in wearing sequins to Walmart, “nice black slacks” to sporting events, and has to start wearing Christmas sweaters prior to Thanksgiving to get through her wardrobe before December 25. She’s 86, still kickin’ and shopping, and always concerned with her attire.

Yesterday we lost my paternal grandmother, Grandma Mildred. Some of my earliest memories of her were of clomping down her hallway wearing one of the hundreds of pairs of high heels she owned. Every closet in her house was filled with shoes. She would sneak them in so my Grandpa wouldn’t realize she bought seven more pair. At once. She truly was the Imelda Marcos of Midland.

When my Grandpa Benny died 17 years ago, we were nearly late for the service because Grandma insisted on finding the yellow heels that matched her yellow purse that matched Grandpa’s favorite black and yellow dress. Because she knew, as do I, that a great outfit can brighten up a bad day, make you feel better when you’re sad, and just be… well, fabulous.

And she truly was fabulous. Here’s to the lady in the yellow shoes. She won’t be forgotten.