The Ghost Outfit

I miss my shoes the most. I thought it would be eating food. Steak, sushi, or double fudge brownie ice cream. Maybe it would be the attention that I commanded in the boardroom when all eyes were on me and the riveting presentation I was giving. Or perhaps it would be the touch of another human being, although I never did have much time for boyfriends, what with my career and all.

But no. Turns out, it’s my shoes.

One specific pair really. The cherry red high heels. I bought them as a Christmas present for myself two years ago. Even with the substantial income I earned as an assistant CEO in a multinational corporation, those designer pumps were a real treat for me.

It wasn’t just the amount their purchase set me back, though. At one point the status symbol of wearing something so expensive was important to me, but now I just miss the way I felt when I wore them. Whenever I was depressed or overwhelmed, I could just slip those babies on and I was back to being in control, confident, and sexy.

Now my feet are stuck in this pair of faded, salmon pink, second hand ballet slippers. They have absolutely no arch support, but that isn’t the worst part. The worst part is the way that they are bedazzled from heel to toe in a chaotic rainbow of plastic gems in assorted shapes and sizes.

They’re both missing a few in the design, you see, if you can even call their asymmetrical placement a design. Stray white threads fill the gaps attesting to their lost comrades. Also, there is this odd brown stain here on the bottom toe of the left one that no amount of walking seems to wear off.

And as far as I know, I am stuck plodding around in them now...for all of eternity.

Yeah, I died. I died with these stupid shoes on. Why was I wearing these ugly things in the first place? Well mostly because they went with the rest of the outfit. It’s supposed to be a princess costume complete with plastic gem tiara and this repurposed pink, poofy prom dress, hand sewed stiff with several pounds of sequins.

I was guilted into putting on this hideous getup by my sister-in-law. To be fair, she was just trying to make sure her daughter had a nice birthday party and I hadn’t attended the last four at all. I wasn’t even planning on going to this one. I had already had my secretary pick out an age appropriate gift, wrap it, and mail it in time for the party. I still don’t even know what present I gave my niece. I just signed my name to the card and off it went.

My brother, her husband, is overseas on deployment, so she was practically hysterical when she called me for help. I really can’t blame her for any of this, you know? It wasn’t her fault the actress who was supposed to wear the costume called out sick at the last minute. It also wasn’t her fault that some snot nosed kid threw up cake and ice cream all over my normal clothes, so when I finally did head home I had to head home wearing this.

Honestly, I really shouldn’t have left my clothes in the bathroom next to the sink, but by the time I got there my sister-in-law was in a full blown panic. She had an entire living room full of impatient kids and one very unhappy birthday girl, all waiting for the Pretty Pink Princess to show up.

And I actually kind of enjoyed it, you know? After I got over my initial nerves and embarrassment. Who would have thought? I used to make fun of the theater students in college, but I found I fell into the role of royalty pretty easily. The kids loved it. I really hammed it up too. Sticking my pinky finger out as I had tea time with them. Telling them all about the stable full of unicorns I had back at my castle…

Anyway, like I was saying, she had no way of knowing I was going to die that day. Or that this would become my eternal ghost outfit. I mean, I had never even heard of a ghost outfit before, so I am pretty sure she hasn’t either. If she had, I’m sure she wouldn’t have let me leave the house in it.

Oh you haven’t heard of that before either? Well let me explain. For those of us recently among the afterlife challenged, whatever you are wearing when you die, that is what you will be wearing as a ghost. And whatever you look like at the moment of your death, well you are stuck looking like that too. And if, like me, you’ve got some unfinished business to figure out, you might just be wearing your last ensemble for a very long time.

I suppose I got off kind of lucky though. I was wearing my seat belt when my car was hit. Distracted driver, the paramedics said. I listened to them chatting as they tried to resuscitate me. I was just sitting at the stop light and she ran straight into me at full speed. Never even tried to brake. She pushed me clear across the intersection and into oncoming traffic.

Unfortunately, the airbag failed to deploy. One swift strike to the head and that was that for me. The tiara and my bangs, which I had an appointment to have trimmed later that day, mostly hide the bruise. I’ve seen other ghosts who weren’t so lucky, maybe you have seen them too? Some of them carry around very gory reminders of just how they died.

Well, I’ve got to get going. It was really nice chatting with you. I guess the bright white light didn’t show up for you either, huh? Next time we meet you’ll have to tell me your story. I absolutely adore your shoes by the way! You look so well put together and there isn’t even a single spot of blood on you. I am super curious what made you meet your end and why you are still hanging around. Was it poison? Wait, no, don’t tell me. I want to hear the whole thing later.

Unfortunately, my curiosity is just going to have to simmer. I am running short on time at the moment. Sounds funny to say right? All we have now is time! But seriously, I’ve got an appointment in a few minutes.

An appointment with who, you ask? My niece of course! I haven’t quite figured out what my unfinished business is yet, but I think it has something to do with her and also neglecting spending time with my brother after our parents died. And no, I haven’t seen them hanging around. They were real stand up folks, can’t imagine they had any loose ends to tie up after they kicked the bucket.

Anyway, for whatever reason the little cutie can see me and I’ve become her new best, imaginary, friend. She’s very particular about her tea parties. A little fussy, that one. Just like I was at her age. She insists that they start on time. And you know, Princesses should never be late. Even if they do have to walk to their appointments in terrible shoes.