Mary Jane Madness

Where do I begin. Last night I had the strangest dream! Let's approach this from a strictly linguistic angle. Since I'm a word fanatic this seems reasonable, if only for the moment. Mary Jane is a slang term for marijuana, it is also the name for a style of shoe. The shoe was originally designed as a flat with a rounded toe and a strap across the instep. Often fashioned in black patent leather, it was intended as a dress shoe for little girls. The Mary Jane shoe has grown into all sorts of stylistic variations for girls of all ages, sometimes retaining only the strap, or two or three, detail from the original. But this isn't about shoes, it's about my dream about shoes. Shoes and marijuana. In my dream I was trying on shoes in a department store. I was admiring a sparkly, crimson pair of high heel clogs that were on display and was waiting for the clerk to bring them out in a 7 1/2. When I put them on, I instantly experienced a sense of euphoria and happiness and was dancing about in front of a mirror. The clerk told me that the Mary Janes were $5000. I didn't quibble about the price, I did tell him that they were not Mary Janes, they were clogs. He grinned and showed me the box, that clearly showed the style as Mary Jane, clog, in the color scarlet. If you are at all familiar with women's shoes, then you know how styles are given names, often feminine. Case in point, the Mary Jane. I was confused. It seems they were a special type of orthopedic shoe, that could only be purchased with a prescription. The shoes were infused with medical marijuana! Shoes as a pharmaceutical delivery device! In retrospect, just over a week ago I was in the shoe department at Nordstrom. Where I was introduced not to Mary Jane, but to Paul Green. In the form of a gorgeous brown suede slouchy boot. In the Cherry Creek Mall in Denver. Colorado. Where medical marijuana is legal. Somehow, then, this information was deconstructed and reassembled in the twisted labyrinth of my synapses, resulting in last night's dream. I must admit to having felt a euphoric rush when trying on the boots, and retain a somewhat giddy feeling over the fact that I own them. They were, after all, one of only two pairs remaining on the clearance racks. When I wear them I do feel elated. If I'm not dancing on the outside, I'm most definitely dancing internally. Which probably translates to the release of pheromones and endorphins. Which are the body's own naturally occurring opiates. When you're this happy in your own shoes, that's got to be a good thing.