A Werewolf Blog in Brooklyn

The Storming off the Shoe Shop | July 14, 2010

July 14th is an important day in French history. It’s Bastille Day.

Which is the history of basically how France came to be, what it is today. They rebelled against their monarchy and government and stormed the Bastille prison which held various political prisoners, it was this act, which was seen ultimately as the symbol of uprising for the new nation of France.

In a nutshell.

So I guess, I really should have picked a different day to go shoe shopping at Barney’s. Because, you know, werewolf territory. To be more precise, Manhattan Maen pack territory. Where a certain bitch faced werewolf by the name of Gabby lives, resides and is an all around pain in my existence, whenever we met. The Manhattan pack have french connections. My Pack, The Breukelen – Dutch. Some of them, still speak the language. Alas dear readers, I chose quatorze juillet to do a spot of shoe shopping on.

Now, I’m not sure if you’re aware of this, but girls and shoes are like air and water – essential. Sex and the City does have a lot to answer for in making girls addicted to the joys of female footwear. I like shoes. New shoes, pretty shoes, designer shoes. All kinds of shoes. Shoes make me happy. There is no real reasoning behind it, other than, sometimes they make me feel taller, or sometimes, they’re just attention grabbing cool.

Hence my Twitter pic.

I decided to do the sale at Barneys in New York. What I really should have brought along with me, other than my handbag, iphone and a bottle of water, was my battle gear. Sure werewolves aren’t known for the need of protective armor / clothing when fighting. But I’ve yet to see Gabby go feral on my ass and reality is, I really don’t want to. Because in a fight, a real, sanctioned, werewolf fight, little miss Alpha would pummel me into a puddle of pawed mess.

Of course, I ran into her at the Barneys shoe sale. She probably lives there.

I didn’t realize at first, because I wasn’t really concentrating on anything other than the delightful vision of footwear surrounding me, that Gabby was in the same vicinity as me. Footwear is like heaven to a girl. Very distracting and instantaneously makes you feel warm and fuzzy, on the inside. Not so unlike being a werewolf in animal form on the outside.

Gabby had turned around from the shoe display I was looking at. I had picked up a cute as, Lanvin quilted red leather mary jane shoe. Of course, it was at that moment, like she must’ve had her werewolf senses working, that she swung back around and saw me, holding the Lanvin and looking at it.

“That’s mine.” Was all she said. Like it was all she needed to say. Like it was her god given female right to stake claim to quite possibly, the cutest shoe in the entire store.

Because I was holding it.

I was just curious about the Lanvin, I didn’t actually intend to buy it. It was out of my price range. But since Gabby had shown interest in it, I was not going to let her know that. I felt rebellious, like the French, what can I say?

I was in the spirit of the day.

Bastille Day.

Bitch on Gabby day.

Then again, you should be aware as I should have remembered too – nothing comes between a girl and her shoes.

“Finders keepers, losers weepers.” I replied smiling at her, and checking out it’s size, with great fascination, against my own foot. Her face went the color of the shoe. Which was ruby red. The Lanvin was my size exactly.

“I saw that shoe first, and I’ve already tried it on.” Gabby blurted out, seemingly flustered by my unfazed attitude and grip on the Lanvin. Damn, that meant we were the same shoe size. Looked like we’d share more than an passing interest in the Manhattan Maen Alpha in common.

Hmmm, what would those French people do in a situation like this? I held the Lanvin by the heel and turned slightly as if planning to walk off with it, and look at other shoes.

Answer: Negotiate.

Well, look like you’re kind of coming to some sort of agreement, I mean, that’s what the Bastille thing started off from..let’s get together and talk our problems out…

“I don’t see your name on it, I don’t see you holding it. But I do see a sale price tag on it…”

I suck at negotiating. Maybe I just wasn’t trying. Of course, we all know, now, how Bastille Day came about. The talking thing didn’t really work for them and it wasn’t going to work for us. Probably because neither of us cared to make it work.

“You’re on Maen territory now, my territory, I don’t have to play nice.”

Hello? When had she ever with me?

Hate at first sight for us. Some werewolves just can’t handle the love of others. Like me and Gabby’s pack leader’s kind of relationship love.

I laughed lightly.

Gabby growled at me under her breath, it was audibly low. But it was loud enough for me to pick up on. Seemingly no longer flustered and ready to fight me for the footwear I so preciously held out of her reach. But there was no way she was going to start an all out wolf bitch fight with me in a public place.

Or such a holy land as the female shoe department.

Over a shoe.

Trying explaining that to your pack leader.

We’re not allowed to openly “wolf out” in front of the public.

It’s just not good manners really.

“It’s the only one in my size left and I saw it first. Give me the shoe…”

She was so easy to bait and yet I was getting so bored of having her in my face.

I smiled at her, and held up the shoe. “Or you’ll do what, exactly?” I asked raising my eyebrows and her quick to ignite, temper. “Look around you, we’re on neutral ground. You can’t do shit to me without risking your own reputation within your own pack. And how would that go down again? Oh right, it wouldn’t” I said throwing the shoe at her chest – hard.

It bounced off her but left a little red angry mark from where the heel had hit skin, before she’d grabbed it. The mark was fading before she stormed through the shoe section, towards the nearest counter. Credit Card at the ready to buy her prize. “You can’t carry off red anyway.” I muttered walking away and heading off to Macy’s department store instead.


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