Manolo says, it is Monday and you are back at your desk, slaving away again for The Man. However, today, unlike most other Mondays you are feeling perky and chipper and bubbly and…and…wonderful, for you think that you may possibly, might be maybe in love.
Of the course, you cannot be 100% positively certain, for the modern condition of your generation, which might best be described as detached irony mingled with studied diffidence, has rendered you incapable of fully evaluating such things.
But, there it is again, that incomparably wonderful tingly feeling in the exact center of your chest, together with the shortness of breath that strikes you at odd minutes, with the hot flushes and the sweaty palms.
And one could well imagine that this might be the onset of some terrible illness, except that these symptoms are usually accompanied by bits and pieces of Elizabeth Barrett Browning’s Sonnets from the Portuguese, frequently wrapped around powerful mental images of that broad-shouldered, curly-headed young man with the liquid brown eyes.
So that one minute you are working on the Barfflefarb account, when whammo!
I think of thee!–my thoughts do twine and bud
About thee, as wild vines, about a tree,
Put out broad leaves, and soon there’s nought to see
Except the straggling green which hides the wood.
Yet, O my palm-tree, be it understood
I will not have my thoughts instead of thee
Who art dearer, better! rather, instantly
Renew thy presence. As a strong tree should,
Rustle thy boughs and set thy trunk all bare,
And let these bands of greenery which insphere thee
Drop heavily down,–burst, shattered, everywhere!
Because, in this deep joy to see and hear thee
And breathe within thy shadow a new air,
I do not think of thee–I am too near thee.
“WHERE THE HELL DID THAT COME FROM!” you shout silently to yourself, “I haven’t read Browning since I was thirteen!”
And now your heart is pounding in your chest and sweat is beading on brow, for you are picturing your beloved (“yes, ‘beloved’ that’s the exact word”) with his trunk all bare.
Ayyyyyy! What can this be but love?
The Manolo, who has experience in such matters, would now counsel you to relax, to enjoy what is the greatest of human emotions, terrible in it’s power, sublime in its effects.
Of the course, you will need shoes, beautiful shoes expressive of your condition.
Beautiful, simple, sincere shoes such as this pointy-toed pump from Christian Louboutin, for you have decided in this instant that you have been all wrong about Elizabeth Barrett Browning, that she is the poet after your own heart, the one person–beautiful, simple, and oh so very sincere–who understands exactly how you feel!