Sapatos de Ipanema It was written

It's been a while since I wrote. Last time I believe I was knee deep in snow. Today, I'm toe deep in sand just back from a week-long, trip to Rio de Janeiro, Brazil where I sunned myself for seven days with my betrothed, my BFF Kerry and her hubby Anibal.

FACT: Brazilians are babes. In case you were ever curious, allow me to confirm the rumour.

If you can survive a week in Brazil with your betrothed and remain fundamentally faithful, it means you were meant to be. In fact, I recommend Rio as a vacation destination to anyone contemplating marriage as that city's inhabitants can truly test the boundaries of real love. My eyes got quite the workout trying [not] to follow every chiseled and bronzed local strutting around Rio clothed in nothing but sheer gorgeousness. My fiancé I'm sure has stronger neck muscles today for the same reason.

There may in fact be nothing more challenging than floating among Brazilian Gods all day, knowing you will be tucked-in at night by a mere mortal and still pack a smile on your face. This alone should be a clear sign you're a couple fit to survive life's toughest obstacles or of course, a sign of cataracts.

Venturing beyond the buff, I must declare the entire trip was incroyable! Exactly what this burnt out bride to be needed. Rio de Janeiro is nothing like what this well-traveled North American expected. It was far less pretentious than the Mediterranean, far more forward thinking than Toronto, far more romantic than Mexico and filled with far more beautiful people than should be allowed in one place (I guess I covered that).

But enough with the travel recap, I have news and a real Brazilian love story to tell that starts with deal and ends in heel! Brace yourselves ladies I bought my bridal pumps in Brazil!

After a week long vacation in South America's rich, lush and lavish R de J, I started to feel the need to take home a souvenir. Three years of service at Tourism Toronto caused me to rebel against typical tourist memorabilia pushed on me at the beach all week SO in my final Brazilian hours, with my number savvy fiancé in tow, I hit the roads looking to depart with some extra Reals and take advantage of all those 50% Promoção signs that hung in store windows ever so patiently.

Sadly, after about an hour-long hunt, I found nothing worth the exchange rate. Ready to accept this fate, I continued back to the condo when Divinity intervened, causing me to detour into Arezzo Shoes. Although the display window showed no sign of glitz or glam, I couldn't deny the force that pulled me. With God and a deadline looming, I maneuvered my way through the new winter collection and b-lined to the back clearance rack as if following a beam of light that led me straight to my new jewels.

At first it seemed there was no hope as the modelesque sales lady denied my request for a size 38. Deflated, I thought to myself how could God be so cruel even after a visit to the top of Corcovado? The trek alone should have put me in his good graces, no.?

It was at that moment I believe Cristo put his hand on top of my head and tipped it forward, causing me to take one more look at the shoe's sole (soul). As a bright light cleared from my eyes, I saw the international sizing and beautiful symbol of the eternal number 8US etched beside a bogus 39BR! God is good.

The fiancé did the math again and concurred - the shoe and the deal were both exquisite. He then proceeded to the register, shoes in hand, and just like that my fiancé was promoted to Prince, cashing out on my glass slippers and making me one happy girl with the perfect Brazilian Bridal Shoes!