Me and the Wicked Witch of the West

I'm reading the book Wicked by Gregory Maguire. It occurs to me that I actually *do* have a lot in common with the so called Wicked Witch of the West. Mr. Maguire paints a much less wicked picture of her than L. Frank Baum.  I don't want to give it away - although I'm guessing I'm the last person in the free world to read this one - everyone was talking about the play last year, and I wanted to go, but never did make it. I'm always happier with a book anyway.

I can really relate to the witch in Wicked. She represents that witchy side of myself. When I was very young, I would watch Bewitched with my mom and wonder if the two of us weren't actually witches;  an idea enforced by her sewing us matching witch outfits for Halloween one year. I tried so hard to wiggle my nose.

I was about halfway through the book when I realized that I had purchased two new pairs of red shoes. Subliminal? The shoes in wicked are symbolic - for different things than in the original story. It is an alternate universe, but I think I have been there. Everyone needs a pair of red shoes. I have always talked myself out of them before. I LOVE red shoes, but you know, when you see red shoes on someone, you think, "Oh, they are that kind of person. The kind who can pull off Red Shoes". I wanted them, but I guess I never believed I pull them off. Until now. I am embracing my Red Shoes. I am embracing my inner witch. And I am going to enjoy them both.