Are You There God? It’s Me Prada

Published November 19, 2014 by WELCOME TO HEIDI

Sometimes in life – someone hands you an explanation for something that is just so perfect – it’s hard to argue against. Last night that person was my friend Chelsea – and that perfect explanation was her proof that there may in fact – be no such thing as God.

Now I am one of those people who believes in God and Angels and people watching over me because if there weren’t, I would have been dead a really long time ago. Or at least – incapacitated in some way – which is worse than dead – because if I’m unaware of how amazing my life and my shoe collection are – then what’s the point. Sure it’s good to be alive but if that life were drooling in a cup while being shoved around on a jazzy – I think I’m out. Now, I’m not sure why God and the Angels keep choosing to save me – perhaps it’s so I could write this award winning blog? But whatever the reasons – I am grateful. Daily.

So here I am walking around with zero facts that there is a God – minding my own business – when Bam! – a story that rocks my foundation – to it’s core and it’s all because Chelsea accompanied a friend to Church one Sunday in Los Angeles. Now here in the city of Angels we do a few things differently than other cities. We can’t drive in Rain. We talk about traffic like it matters. We tend to all wear the same outfit. And – when it comes to Church – it’s a little loosey goosey on who you pray to. You can find quite a variety of Gods to pray to and with and there can be a lot of granola, peace and love mixed in with God in some places. Now it’s easy to turn your nose up to that regular old Catholic God everyone talks about constantly and thanks at awards ceremonies – or one of those crazy healers who uses a basket of snakes to charm you – but when the Church you’ve been taken to is filled with a bunch of people who seem just like you – when they start saying crazy stuff – you can get sucked in. And here’s the crazy thing that happened. At one uplifting point in the ceremony – the crowd was asked to do something selfless – for needy people – and that selfless act – was to take off the shoes they were wearing and pass them to the front – to be passed along to needy people. HOLD THE FUCKING PHONE RIGHT NOW I’M NOT GIVING UP MY 300 DOLLAR SHOES – was the thought that immediately crept into her head. But everyone was doing it. The entire congregation was whipping off their shoes and passing them forward and chanting and yelling for Chelsea to do the same. “But these are my favorite shoes” she pleaded to her friends. Zero fucks given. They’re just shoes. Pass them forward. You’ll feel amazing afterwards. Well maybe those people were wearing JUST SHOES but Chelsea was not. She loved her shoes. They were her favorite pair. She had formed a bond with them – like I have with so many of mine. They are my children. And anyone who tells me I don’t know real love because I’ve never had a child is wrong – I love my Miu Miu studded shoes like a teenager who brings home an A+ from school in Calculus. But she did it. She passed them forward. A tear spilling on them as they left her tiny hands. She didn’t feel amazing. She felt shoe raped. And there under the guise of religion and love and God – Chelsea was given pretty clear proof that there is no God. Because no God would ask us to hand over our favorite shoes. God would give Prada a pass. Just saying.

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