my fabulous boots

Never wear studded Charles Jourdan boots when you have a wall of meetings in Washington.

You will have to remove them before entering any buildings if you do not want to set off the metal detectors and then, to further detract from your already tight schedule, you will have to hobble around clutching your boots, your bag, your now cold cup of coffee and what is left of your dignity looking for a place to sit down and put your boots back on.   Thankfully my knitting bag does not cause the alarms to go off and that is only because I, like all nonprofit knitters, travel with bamboo needles.  Who needs this?

Yes, dear reader, you are right. I nonchalantly dressed for Washington as if I was in New York.

Note to self:  This is not a good idea!

Katherine and I are pitching an innovative art and business idea to folks at the National Endowment for the Arts and on the Hill who work on appropriations. She has two pairs of glasses. One pair is a dangerous shade of purple that I love and the other pair immediately confers an aura of conservative efficiency – good for these types of meetings. However, since I am stomping around in my studded boots wearing a pair of killer designer glasses – I am from the creative sector, hellOOO!! – she is wearing her purple pair.

We are on a fact finding mission to see if there is any interest and traction to our idea, to ask for advice from the most junior to the most senior senate staff members we end up speaking with. Katherine is smooth as she opens, I take her lead and follow with an evocative example or two, we are sincere in our appreciation for that valuable insight about a senator’s current thinking, our notes snare every nuance, every spoken and unspoken piece of advice. We notice when the eyes light up.

“Where is 2314? Is there a 23rd floor?” I ask. The elevator only goes up to 4. “Some people think that having an address with four numbers sounds better than three numbers. Is that what’s going on?”

“They do it to confuse the terrorists. They’ll get totally lost looking for the 23rd floor and get caught.” Katherine says. She is my native guide in this marble jungle. We get into the elevator and she presses 3.

Katherine and I have hit the sweet spot of our pitch by the time our last meeting is over. We are exhausted and exhilarated at the same time. The terrain has been scoped and we will return as she wolves in January to close in on our prey with a finely honed request.

No studded boots.