E is a tomboy. She is rough-and-tumble. A boy pushes her on the playground, she pushes back - hard. She yells. She runs. She climbs and throws. It's no exaggeration to say she's one of the wildest kids in her school.
But she has a very strong interest in small niches of girly things. At top of that list are my shoes. Only some of them. Not my flats, not my flip-flops. The girlier my shoes are, the more strongly E is attracted.
I recently ordered a new pair of shoes, and they arrived in today's mail. These are shoes that could make a fetishist faint. These are Women in a crowd of mere Girly. They are *Red*Patent Leather*Peep toe*Bow on Top*Three inch heel* gorgeous shoes. And I love them.
But E loves them more. She pulled them out of the box and didn't even give me time to remove the packets of silica gel. She started cramming them onto my feet, and when I didn't stand up fast enough to initiate their maiden catwalk, she pulled them back off of my feet and stepped into them herself.
She had already taken her clothes off before we opened the shoes, so there she was, covered only in her diaper and my shoes. And she wouldn't relinquish them. She wore them all evening, all around the house, and only took them off for dinner. And only because I made her do so. Because I was afraid she would drop black beans in them.