I have begun to feel a sense of sympathy for Imelda Marcos. No, not because her singing career never really had a chance, competing, as it did, with her rather tawdry image as a gold digger and the distractions of a ‘’pay-dirt’’ existence. Nor because that and other unseemly elements of her life story have recently been laid bare in an 89-minute mix of disco and schmaltz. No, it’s because I have started to come to terms with the shoes. Not hers. Mine. 24 pairs of them.

With 2 days to go and Southwest’s generous 2-bag’s free policy, it was time to get down to the difficult task of dressing The Diva. You see, we have been instructed to:

A. Dress comfortably for the daytime
In some of the images on the website, people are lying on the floor. Will we be trained to revive despondent members of the audience? Are we to be taught how to “Breathe, darling, breathe!” when the reviews are less than upliftingly accurate? Perhaps we’ll observe the Cabaret Boot Camp equivalent of ‘’nap time”? One can only imagine.

The instructions continue:
B. Dress appropriately for the evening cabaret series
There are four performances in the series. Presumably one does not wish to upstage the performer. Given the caliber of performer, however, I expect this is scarcely possible. Still, one should exercise caution and have at least one (or perhaps as many as four?) discreetly tasteful combination in one’s closet. A shared closet, that is. You see, we are being housed two to a room; 4 to a suite. Which means we’ll be sharing three closets. I know math may not be my thing…but that’s one per bedroom and the, err, water closet. Oh joy of joys.

Finally, we’ve been instructed to:
C. Bring at least two costumes to choose from for our own debut at the Iseman Theater
And here it gets even more daunting. The selections will be reviewed by an ‘’Image Consultant”, who will also review our promotional materials (website, posters, business cards, headshots, show programs – is this where “Oh dear. The airline lost my bag!” comes in?)

Thus, at a minimum we will need four pairs of shoes – A + B + 2*C = 4. So, why the extra 20 pairs?

Well, grapevines being what they are, large beakers of doubt-provoking drivel are being generously passed around, with the general consensus being that we will not only be evaluated based on our choice of performance gear, but on how well we embody the domain of the diva (and divo) throughout the week. Lord, Help me…torn jeans and a t-shirt with a pair of comfy flip-flops simply will not do.

So, it’s now one each of black, white & brown for A and for B, 2 for C, plus a pair of thigh-highs in black suede just in case the Cougarlicious springs forth. That’s 9. Then it’s necessary to have a range of heel heights – flats, 1 inch & 2 inch for A & B and…okay…the ankle-breaker for on-stage. That takes us to 9 for A and 9 for B, with 4 for C. Some flip-flops for the 3 minute break before bedtime and a pair of running shoes lest I totter off the 4-inchers and end up hobbling around on crutches, and we’re cresting 24 pairs of shoes without even breaking a sweat.

Many years ago, a man sitting in a hotel lobby in Khartoum studied my face for a moment and said authoritatively, “You would be beautiful if you didn’t have such a big nose.” I’d like to think that, as Shariah had been recently slapped rapidly into place and the army had the day before removed all the alcohol from the hotel in the crackdown, he was suffering from some sort of withdrawal affecting his vision.

Nonetheless, years later, I remain more than a bit leery about letting a stranger assess my image. When my minutes come with the ”Image Consultant”, what will he see? I haven’t got Michelle Obama’s arms or J-lo’s bum. I haven’t got the d-cup cleavage or the nip-tuck waistline. But, I’ve got the shoes. And, whatever he says about my thigh-highs….he’d better not complain about the shoes!