I don’t mean to take over this blog discussing abortion. I really don’t. But it pulls at me to write from my heart about my opinion on the subject.

First, let me say I grew up in a wonderfully warm and loving small town in Texas. Everyone went to church on Sunday regardless of their belief in God, everyone ate BBQ and fried chicken, and we all carried around guns and fired guns in ranges and hunted our deer. This was my life, and abortion was some evil tool of liberals trying to kill babies. We Christians loved children and anyone who thought otherwise live in California.

I have grown since then, and instead of things becoming more black or white, they have become more grey. I am a healthcare attorney so this matter cuts deeply to the heart of what it is to do no harm, and I’m representing scared and confused groups and doctors who just don’t want to be sued or hauled to jail. They all want to help and not hurt, and they, too, want to heal. This remains true even for abortion providers. They are not murderers.

As a lawyer who prides herself on ethical standards, a breach of trust to the degree to release a draft opinion to the public before publication is also shocking and unheard of. Sure, there have been leaks in the past, but not of this magnitude. So it’s a double whammy of surprises.

I don’t know anyone who associates abortion with anything positive. The court states in this draft that abortion presents a “profound moral question.” I think at least that statement is somewhat fair. It’s certainly a divisive issue.  No one is “pro-abortion.” Basically we can agree, I think, that if an abortion occurs, something has gone wrong. Never does a women skip to the abortion clinic on a beautiful Spring day and then go out for ice cream humming pop songs. Often it’s a heavy and tragic situation. Perhaps there is an unviable pregnancy, a fetus is born without important organs vital to survival, or a young girl who is raped by a stranger or even a family member. A woman should not be forced to birth her uncle or rapist’s baby, of that I’m sure. And to the people who say “oh, these state laws make concessions for those situations,” that is not true. Many state laws have ZERO room for these situations. It’s morphed into an all or none position.

I have my own belief about such issues, which as a free woman I have the right to feel, about when an abortion may be necessary and important, and I have my own location on the wheel of this mortal conundrum.  It’s not something to throw around, or to be used to “eliminate a problem” that is not there. I certainly would not advocate that women can knowingly carry perfectly healthy babies to almost full term, simply change their mind, and then – meh- abort them on a whim. That would be sociopathic. I bet that reality is very slim and shouldn’t be the marker here.

And we can talk all day about “if you care about life, what about education and Medicaid and foster children and health care and mental health?”  But the fact remains that people are so rooted in their positions that logic simply doesn’t matter anymore, and civil discourse becomes, as it has generally been over the last four years, simply toxic. If you disagree with someone, you are cancelled, vilified, or blacklisted. It becomes about black and white, right vs wrong, Christian vs non-Christian. I suppose if a child is born disabled, and they can’t get access to the right kind of health services, that’s no longer our problem as a nation? They were born, so that’s the big win, and if they live a miserable lonely life with no access to care or help or a family who loves them, who get caught up in drugs and gangs just to feel a part of something, that’s just not our problem. We have gone to our prayer meetings and attended our rallies and we go to sleep at night very sure of ourselves, so don’t rock the boat talking about mentally unstable children. There are people who take care of that.

My heart aches.

I love babies.  Who doesn’t love babies? I adore the smell, the wiggles, the feel of being a mother. And no, I didn’t have an abortion, thank God, because my children were healthy and I carried them full term. But not every woman is so lucky.  If you are robbing them of the right over their own body to have a trained surgeon work with them during the most painful time in their life to care for their medical needs, who will they turn to?  Doctors will not get training in this area.  Don’t kid yourself. They won’t receive the instruction in residency and fellowship. Insurance companies won’t cover the work. We live in a litigious society, and not only will doctors be sued, but maybe arrested. Women will be turned down at all costs, and forced to travel great distances and perhaps even to another country to have an unviable fetus taken out of their womb that they likely wanted very much but such child isn’t able to live and breathe in our earthly world. Imagine the grief of this mother, who lost this child before he or she was even born, who must now add insult to injury (and risk even death) to resolve it.

I am a devoted Christian.  I believe with my full heart that Jesus was the greatest teacher who ever lived – the point where I devote my life to his teachings. I do not believe Jesus would be accepting of this state of our world where we vilify and attack each other about every possible topic. We are a lost people, and I breathe in heavy sighs at that sad reality. No, of course Jesus didn’t condone murder. But I believe he would want women to have safe healthcare.

And when a woman weeps over losing a child at any stage, whether it’s in the womb or after, Jesus also weeps.

We cannot leave something so fundamental to the whim of the state house run by politicians. The opinion says that Roe and Casey got it wrong, that protecting abortion is not in the constitution, and that they “leave this authority to the people and their elected representatives.” Many rights that we have discovered to be important to our citizens are not, in fact, explicitly written in the Constitution, and we have no trust in politicians to represent the people. This whittling down of human rights has no end. Will contraception be next? Can women be trusted to own a home, have a credit card, or even vote?  If we are rolling back rights, how far will we go?  Is discrimination something we also need to “leave to the states?” This means we must be more vigilant to vote, encourage other like minds to vote, and have our voices heard loudly and clearly. The court will not protect long-standing stare decisis principles any longer. It’s up to us. But can we trust that even if we vote in the right people and get some laws changed, we can change the tide if the courts will not hold the very principles the judiciary has held dear for centuries? Courts are not supposed to be political. But this is new era.

Our country is better than this.  We are built on freedom and independence, holding all people equal. We have made progress in so many ways and we have a long way to go.  But removing protections and saying “this is a state issue” isn’t the solution.  It’s setting our country back hundreds of years, and it simply hurts women in the process.

I am pro baby.  I am pro woman.  I am pro life.  But there is a need and an important role for abortion in our society, period.  Removing access to it hurts us all. I will vote, I will get people out to vote, and we will have to live with the reality that we create.

May God have mercy on our souls in the process.

This has been quite a week as the abortion law has passed in the Texas legislature granting the authority to private citizens to turn into bounty hunters, without any requirement of personal damages or standing, to uphold a law that may or may not be constitutional.

First of all, unless you are a sociopath serial killer, people in the world do not want to hurt children. It’s an innate instinct as a human being to protect another person who is vulnerable. If there is a child on the side of the road crying, someone will come pick up that child, look around for a parent, make sure that child doesn’t toddle out on the highway, no matter if they are Republican, Democrat, Muslim, Jew, or Christian. We are humans, and we recognize the plight of the helpless, and we are all wired to help those who area in need. I’ve never met one person who was like “unleash the killings upon the children! Who wants a beer?” Tragedies have forever highlighted the power of community, and as Mr. Rodgers has famously said, look for the helpers.

Abortion is complicated as different people believe that life “begins” at different points, and that a woman has the right to control her own body (but up to a point, depending on when you believe life begins), just like a person has a right to defend their own life in certain situations when their own life is threatened but has to be cautious about using deadly force. There are legal treaties and legal case law miles long about this issue. So for us to boil it down to “right vs wrong” or one way is right and one is simply wrong without further analysis and compassion is simply foolish.
But then again, I’m a lawyer and I’m trained to look at things from both sides.

As Richard Epstein pointed out in an article in the Hoover Institute, What is a person? And what are the justifications that make it lawful to kill another person? On one hand, abortion advocates indicate no one becomes a person until he or she is outside the womb. When a woman is pregnant, the argument is that it’s not a human inside of her, it’s still part of the mother. That claim brings fierce responses by anti-abortion advocates, who say the DNA of the child is distinct from that of the mother and father, and that it is thus absurd to claim that an unborn child with a heartbeat does not have the status of an independent person.

I am in a unique position to understand this debate. My children attend a private Christian school, filled with parents who are passionate about this issue on both sides. I was born and raised in a small Texas town where things seem very black and white. Where you can buy deer corn on every corner, you go to church whether you really believe or not, and things seem so simple when you’re around those who feel the exact same as you do. And yet many people cannot see past their own bias.

Will we come to agreement on this issue? Likely not. So this will always be a burning issue not only in humanity, but in our own family and friend circles.

But in some cases, regardless of your feelings on abortion, common sense should prevail. What about women who are raped, or molested by an uncle and end up getting pregnant and don’t know it quickly enough in a six week period because they are already in trauma and working non-stop and they drink too much and eat too much and they thought that weight gain or nausea wasn’t possibly the result of a pregnancy. Must that woman be forced to bear her rapist’s child? Or must that woman secretly try and find her way to another state to deal with this horrific tragedy? And if she is a minority and poor and has no clue how to navigate this system, because if she takes more than a day off of work she will get fired, and she can’t pay for rent in a house she shares with her sick mother and two-year old child, is she just stuck, and must bear the child of her uncle the rapist? Surely we can at least see the banality of the right vs wrong, one size fits all mentality when life has shades of gray.

But if we can step aside from the abortion debate for a moment, let’s discuss the broader reach of this law that is the most disturbing.

What is most concerning to me is the sweeping bravado to think that the legislature can ignore the way our system of justice works in this country. It has long stood as precedence that that in order to sue another individual for a tort, or because a person is violating a particular law, the plaintiff must be personally harmed and have standing to bring a lawsuit, and there must be damages as a part of the analysis that are compensatory. You must assert that claim when bringing such suit, and there is a burden of knowledge (and/or legal fees to get help in this process) in order to go down this path. If you just go around suing each other when it’s not your business, you have no legal standing, and you have no personal damages, and a motion to dismiss is the appropriate response. That fight will be shut down quickly enough. There are even counterclaims specifically designed to punish those that file frivolous lawsuits. Or at least the courts will issue stays if a law changes to keep the status quo intact in order to avoid harm until things are more sorted. But not in this case.

This Texas law is different from previous bans in that it prohibits the state from enforcing the ban, instead authorizing private citizens to bring civil suits against anyone who “aids or abets” an abortion. It’s a true bounty hunter situation at hand here. This is ludicrous. We are Americans, not scared Germans, afraid of Nazi soldiers, where everyone is informing on their neighbors’ actions.

Part of any legal claim that is compensable under the law is that it isn’t something a person is just intending to do, or thinking about doing, but actually completes the action. If someone says “I’m going to kill my asshole ex-husband” or “I’m thinking of committing tax fraud” that isn’t actionable by law unless the ex-husband turns up in a ditch and they find the murder weapon in your desk drawer or if they prove you actually defrauded the government. But in this statute, the language says that you can bring a claim if you know that someone intends to procure an abortion or aid and abet one. That should scare us all.

The rule of law is really whatever the Texas legislature believes it is, and apparently the highest court of the land just doesn’t want to get involved. This is the classic law school example of a “slippery slope.” Today it’s abortion, but tomorrow it’s religious freedom, right to bear arms, and individual liberty. If you are okay with it now when it suits your purposes, how will you feel when the tables are turned?

We should all care. We live in a civilized society where we don’t go around hiding in our homes, pointing fingers at our neighbors without evidence, with not only protection of the law but a financial incentive to do so. We have an obligation to speak up against this injustice before it spreads like the cancer that it is. And the fact is, lower-income women, many minorities or immigrants, without large chests of money are the ones who are affected the most. They are also vulnerable, and need protection.

I will take a stand against this law as a Texan. I will take a stand against this law as a lawyer. And I will take a stand against this law as a woman who lives in a nation of freedom.

Let’s discuss the concept of perseverance, a continued level of effort and achievement despite difficulties, failure, or opposition.  It’s the never-give-up, rolling up your sleeves, perfect version of the American dream. I think secretly, we all believe we are born with this like an innate spirit, even if we didn’t earn it and we just wear it like a cloak around our neck in pretense.

The Bible discusses this, considering it joy when humans face trials of many kinds, due to the steadfast endurance it builds. It even goes as far as to celebrate suffering, as it leads to endurance, character, and even hope. There is an entire story dedicated to a man who sat in the dust wallowing in his own bedsores. No wonder people think Christians are all whackos. Turn the other cheek, celebrate your suffering.  Um, no thanks. I’m no masochist.

But way back in the infancy of my adulthood, I was thrown unwillingly into this category of One Who Faces Hard Things. I was not unique. It’s part of the human experience. But cancer and subsequent radiation that pulsed through my body and the panic and anxiety I felt at the concept of my own mortality were met with some fake assurances that I was paying my deposits early, and after this I could go around being fully vaccinated from pain because I Paid My Dues. Oh early adult self.  Bless your heart.   

So later, when I lay in the hospital room and my organs were displayed on the table and I was split down the middle like a roasting hen, after the doctors said “there’s nothing more we can do” and washed my insides out with saline water, my feeble shaking hands put this verse, the one from the Book of James that talks about facing trials and endurance, on the tray that held my ice chips and pudding cups. I didn’t know if I believed it, but somehow it was comforting just the same.

I said to God: Dear Sir, if you let me live, I’ll be a good mother to that girl. And every day, I ask myself.  Am I? Am I good enough to the point where my life was worth saving?

It wasn’t until I got a divorce from the father of my children that I really broke, split wide open at the thought of my children being in two homes, the marriage and family that had become such a home to me now turned into a foreign and desolate land. I didn’t know if I would make it. The shame nearly buried me.

I put the same familiar verse on the warped chalkboard I bought at the Pottery Barn outlet store, but this time I added a little more.  Not only will I somehow persevere, but God is always faithful, even when I cannot see it or understand.  I mostly just sobbed and stared at the various prescriptions for anti-anxiety drugs I had taped to my refrigerator, promising myself I wouldn’t fill them and take them all in one fatal swoop. 

What I wasn’t seeing, back in the thick of it, was the slow walk up the mountain that I had already begun walking, one small step at a time.  Every time I’d make it a little way up, I’d stumble backward. Half a day hike, a fall. Another day trudging forward, a cliff.  It was not a straight walk, but a series of forwards and backwards, some mishaps causing significant wounds, others less so. But I kept getting back up and somehow continued upward with a backpack full of conceit and emotional patterning of my youth. I would have been better off with granola bars.

I’m now facing another setback, which is unfortunate. That’s a lie. In reality, it’s heartbreaking. I had worked so hard for so many years and I thought I had found the redemption I had long sought after. But while gaining some ground, it was too much for me to bear. So I sat down on a rock, slid the backpack off my shoulders, and simply stopped. I don’t know what the future will hold, but for now, I could not take one more step.

I looked around. I could see the valleys far below, the sweeping clouds that drifted past, the swaying of the trees on a ledge beneath. The birds, oblivious to my suffering, sang loudly and defiantly in the direction of my pain, which was amusing. I tried to interpret their songs, but it’s gibberish unless you are a bird, which I am not. I wished for a moment that I could speak bird language so I could tell them to shut up, that this was my mountain top experience, as crappy as it was, and that couldn’t they give me this one thing in peace? A mockingbird dropped a load on my backpack. That figures.

But at the end of our life, don’t we all end up alone? I had walked up this mountain, almost half a century now of moving and writing and laughing. I had persevered through many trials without even realizing how far I had come. I shook my head and gave God a little smirk; the Bible was right. I had developed endurance, but not through my own attempts, but out of sheer and utter necessity. And this time, instead of lacing up my sneakers and trying to go even higher, I just let myself be. It may not be what I had hoped for, but it will have to do. My insides do not ache, my mind is clear, the cancer and sepsis and heartbreak– none of it broke me.

Today I bought a Jewish prayer shawl and a prayer rug typically only used by those who study Islam off Etsy, because I wanted to create a holy space inside a closet where I could establish a very clear routine of prayer and silence.  I told my daughter this, and she laughed at me. “I appreciate the effort to be multi-cultural, mom, but honestly?  You’re so weird.” I smiled.  This is the girl I promised God I’d be good to, that I swore if I could only have a chance to live, I wouldn’t fail her. Mostly these days she forces me to listen to her indy music and tells me I know absolutely nothing about fashion.

I am trying to learn to just sit still and not keep climbing higher and higher, desperately trying to find a partner who won’t leave me out of a fear of my own making.  I am learning that even children do not complete me, that I can bake a truckload of muffins and bring gallons of coffee but teenagers are built to pull away and move on.  Halsey, the singer, writes: 

I know you’re chokin’ on your fears
Already told you I’m right here
I will stay by your side every night

–

I don’t know why you hide from the one
And close your eyes to the one
Mess up and lie to the one that you love?

Because we are humans, that’s why. Because we are flawed, confused, unbridled, fucked-up nut-cases who learn as we go until we grow old, and then often it’s too late. We choke on our own fears because we are still in the process of growing up emotionally, and in time, with prayer and stillness, we can see that we are enough right here where we sit. Because we are in essence never alone. We are constantly surrounded by love and light and a holy spirit that never needs anything from us at all.  Not one damn thing except our attention, which we scatter to the winds instead of allowing it to be quiet.  I blame the birds for my attention deficiency, but that is an unpopular opinion.

So here I am, persevering after all. I’m listening to Post Malone, a Texas born rapper with face tattoos who sings profanity-laden angsty songs about love and money, and how he says he’s coming down from the high of his life. I am weary, but not worn out. I am unpublished but still writing. I’m partly-grey but still cover it with golden blond. I still have life and blood left in me, pulsing in me, warming me through the hard nights. Perhaps this is the very high of my life. God, thank you for letting me live through all the things that should have killed me. Thank you for the endurance these trials led to, and a feeling that nothing can ever break me, truly, ever again.

Except the damn birds. They are going to be the death of me.

Just you wait, ‘enry ‘iggins, just you wait

You’ll be sorry but your tears ‘ll be too late

You’ll be hungry, I’ll have brisket

And some bacon and a biscuit 

You can’t have my sweet tea, damnit,

Just you wait

Just you wait, ‘enry ‘iggins, till you’re here

You will see a bowl of cheese sauce by the beer 

What is this, you will wonder, that they go so ape-shit over

It’s queso, you fool, plus jalapeños.

Ooo ‘enry ‘iggins, just you wait

Till you see some Austin hippies on a date

They are eating vegan bowls, boba tea, sushi rolls

And you’ll wonder how anyone here is even straight (they all live in Amarillo).

Oh ho ho, ‘enry ‘iggins, oh ho ho, ‘enry ‘iggins, just you wait

When you see that all the folks are overweight

It’s the booze, it’s the meat, it’s the tacos, it’s the heat

We can’t walk around and exercise, you moron, or we’ll die of heat exhaustion.

One day I’ll be famous, I’ll be proper and prim

I’ll hire Willie Nelson himself to come over, sing a hymn

We’ll get a beach house on the water where you’ll meet the farmer’s daughter

But she will turn her nose up because you don’t have a large truck and an oil money trust fund.

You will see how much we love this place, despite its many flaws

It has cows and canned tomatoes and very few gun laws

And you’ll say By george, I’ll move there

But real estate prices are a nightmare

And we’ll tell you if you do, please move to Lubbock because Dallas is full.

All the people will celebrate the glory of this state

They will raise their glass to cowboys and George Strait

But all I want is ‘enry ‘iggins dead, his liberal politics I dread

“Done, ” says the governor with a special on Fox news explaining the entire situation

Then they’ll march you, ‘enry ‘iggins to the wall!

And the Governor will tell me, “Liza, sound the call!”

As they raise their rifles higher, I’ll shout

“Ready, aim, fire!”

Because clearly we don’t have any problem using our rifles down here in Texas. 

In the meantime, have a margarita.  It’s really damn hot. 

Marriage is hard in a pandemic, and can take its toll. It takes years of compromise and hard work just to find that your spouse can’t seem to clean the gutters or remember to send you flowers.  Apathy sets in, no one goes anywhere, and you both stare at each other asking if you want more take-out.  Who is actually thriving in this pandemic household?  Your stand mixer.  

There it is like a white and chrome beacon of light.  It sits there in the corner just waiting for you, with its shiny sides and sexy curves.  It lifts up and slams back down whenever you want it to, ready for action.  It never has a headache or smells like yesterday’s leftovers.  It is always ready for adventure.  This is the stand mixer’s time to shine. 

When you’re married, you sit around on weekends bored out of your skull watching documentaries while drinking cheap white wine. You are so tired of doing the same thing over and over while stuck in quarantine that neither of you are in the mood for intimacy or laughs. If you hear “wanna go grab a pizza?” while wearing sweats one more time you’ll scream.

Not so with your stand mixer! It has all kinds of interesting attachments that never get dull.  Need a paddle?  Oh, it’s there.  Feeling whisky?  Hand me the egg whites and lock the door.  It even has a dough hook. And it is so very easy to turn on.  

With marriage, you have to wait until your spouse leaves for the grocery store, the only place anyone ever goes anymore, to crank up the music you want to hear.  The stand mixer doesn’t have any problems with your music, never complains, and when you are tired of it, it stays quiet.  And it gives you cake batter.  Can your 55-year-old project manager husband do that? 

The stand mixer is your constant companion.  It is always there for you. It does not just fail to turn on because of its own apathy and internalized rage at the world. It allows you to dump your feelings and heavy whipping cream directly into it and happily whips it into butter.  It never runs out of energy when you are ready for more action. And when you’re done, you simply unplug it and walk away. There is no discussion about who’s rolling the trash can to the curb.  It simply produces cookie batter and presents it to you. This is the mixer’s finest hour. 

So in sum, maybe instead of getting a stand mixer for a wedding gift, we should ditch the wedding and simply buy the stand mixer.  That makes a whole lot of sense for our collective happiness. 

The Saks 5th Avenue in my area was having an 80% off sale. I went in. This was my first mistake.  

It started off so innocently.  I had normal thoughts and was well hydrated. The moment I walked in, however, something primal and tragic took over my body. There were clothing on racks everywhere in no particular order, just cashmere sweaters next to silk blouses next to high-dollar fancy jeans. I could smell blood in this place. Women with ravaged eyes and the smell of blood were grabbing carts and running around like it was Supermarket Sweep. There were no sizes anywhere.  Just racks of clothes you had to thumb through like an animal.

If anything, I am competitive. THIS IS MY DAY. You better watch out, all the women who are furiously pushing hangers to the left.

I couldn’t find a cart so I grabbed a wheeled basket, then decided upon two, and bee-lined to the shoe department. I immediately found some adorable suede heels and some Tod’s boots in black. IN THE CART THEY FLEW. With the discount, the shoes were all hovering around seven to ten dollars a pair, so as fast as you can say “Sam Edelman” my little tiny rolling baskets were full.

Someone was eyeing a nude pair of pumps in my cart until I gave her the evil eye.  Another woman asked me where I found that adorable BCBG sweater that was stuffed in my tiny rolling basket.  I just waived my arms around the entire store like “where else do you think I got it?” Hanging on the rack with the tiny jeans and overcoats in size 3XL of course! Let me live! I thought briefly she may try and swipe it from me.  Keep an eye on that one.  

One lady couldn’t take it anymore. She looked directly in my eyes like we were kindred spirits.  “This place is crazy,” she said.  “It’s like people have gone mad!” You’re damn right they have.  Clearly, she misjudged my face.  I was no like-minded professional woman with a conscience.  I’m going to get this wispy silk blouse in cream for $7 and no absolutely NO ONE CAN STOP ME.

“More for the rest of us,” I thought. We are in Lord of the Flies and I’m damn sure going home with this see-through sweater.

This should have been the first clue my faculties were interrupted.  And yet when you’re in the middle of a drunken shopping spree, you can only continue forward.  Sadly, there is only one direction and that’s right clear through. I see that now. I would have pulled a chanel bag directly out of the hands of my own mother.  I wasn’t in my right mind. 

Next up was the dilemma of buying clothing you cannot try on as the dressing rooms are not safe due to COVID, and the fact that you don’t want to nestle up next to other people sifting through racks and you try to maintain a safe distance. And the absurdity that nothing was hung in the general collection of sizes so you just had to hope and pray that Brunello Cucinelli shirt was not a size zero.  It was, of course.

I finally spotted the crown jewel – a long beautiful cashmere sweater that tied at the waist. They were originally well over three hundred dollars but were now around $60, which wasn’t dirt cheap but I was prepared for this investment, and I rubbed my masked-face across its soft veneer, imagining myself around a fire wrapped in nothing but cashmere from head to toe, drinking red wine and eating expensive cheese.

I found an abandoned basket in this free-for-all madhouse and grabbed it, transferring all my shoes and my sweaters. I got some make-up bags in silver in three different sizes that I don’t even know who I’ll give to and what they are even for but they were on SALE SALE SALE and I found myself losing all grip on reality.

By the time I left, I was carrying so many bags it hurt my arms.  By the time I got home, I realized I grabbed the wrong cashmere sweater and it was a size small, and half the silk shirts were too large and needed taking in.  Somehow I ended up with a rogue black shoe in a size 4 that the poor haggard sales person threw in by mistake.  Did I actually buy face oil in the smell of roses?  Is that a straw hat?

I got in the car and drank water and took some deep breaths.  I’m not sure what happened in there.  Something deep rooted and wild. I’ve gone mad.  Was the thousands in savings worth half my day? Then I realized I left behind a perfectly good pair of maroon crocodile Michael Kors heels because “twenty dollars just wasn’t a price I was willing to pay.” 

Hydrate, Amanda, you’re going back in.  This is your moment.  THOSE HEELS ARE YOURS.