Strike A Nerve.

"Take my shoes off," he said sitting down on the bed.

I pulled at the neat little knot and it unravelled instantly. As I looked at the criss-cross of the lace going through the tiny holes I had an important realisation, I had no idea how to loosen a proper shoe. Still, I pulled, I pulled at the crosses and it appeared I was only tightening them. The more I fumbled, the more exasperated I became, the harder I pulled, the tighter the shoe got.

"How can a grown woman..not know how to undo a shoe?" He asked, genuinely surprised.

How indeed.

When I was younger my mother always bought me shoes that were much bigger than my foot, I never had to undo a shoelace. It was known around my family that I had humongous feet. Everytime we went into the shoe store she asked them for their biggest shoe size and whatever shoe they had in that size was the shoe that I got. It was always sneakers and they were always had Velcro. It wasn't until I started buying my own shoes that I learned my feet weren't freakishly big and I could easily get my size at any shoe-store but by then I was used to slip-on shoes, it's what I found comfortable. So I.. I never learned how to properly take off a shoe.

I couldn't explain that to him then. I couldn't even explain it to myself, I'd never before had the opportunity to realize that I didn't know how to undo a shoe.

"I'm..clumsy," I told him

It was the best I could come up with; it was all I could think of. I am not the most dextrous person in the world but I am not clumsy, I just have strange gaps in my skills. In that moment though, it made me feel vulnerable. More than anything because everything between us was so new then and we're different people when things are new. We're ourselves but less, and shinier. We shield our vulnerabilities or at least I do and I feel vulnerable when I come off as unskilled at, well, anything. And not being able to untie a shoe is such a basic breakdown of the skills of functionality.

I wanted to do it, but I couldn't, and he could see and it made me extremely uncomfortable.

"You really don't know how to do it?" He asked, but more gently, that time.

I said no.

I asked if he would do it and I laughed a ridiculous nervous laugh that I can't get rid of no matter how hard I try.

"No I will not," he said clearly but kindly appalled at the suggestion, "But I will teach you how to do it."

There is a right moment to make that suggestion. Offering to teach people things is not always a great idea and it doesn't always have the desired effect, but in the right moment it can lead to amazing things. When I don't know how to do something I feel stupid and in moments that I feel that I don't feel lifted up by the reactions I most often receive. I imagine those are the ones we all receive, please are not kind to each other when we slip up. In small ways or large. I was grateful for the kindness in that strange moment of vulnerability. There is nothing that makes me feel more vulnerable than being watched when I can't do something but I'm very comfortable being watched as I learn something.

So he taught me how to properly undo a shoe. How to loosen the laces and slip it off a foot and how to do that without breaking an ankle, hitting yourself in the face and spraining your wrist. I'm still really terrible at shoes. I wear lace-up sneakers now but I never undo the laces. I can take his shoes off without injuring him but the process is completely devoid of grace. No one said I had to be graceful while I removed shoes, but no one said I couldn't either. So I'm okay at it now but back then it was appalling. I'm a bit horrified by how terrible I was at taking shoes off. He taught me and I fumbled and punched myself in the face and fell face first onto the shoe as he explained how shoes are laced and perhaps an hour later, his shoes were off.

And I sat there with an extremely pleased look on my face. One you can only get when you feel comfortably accepted in your vulnerability. He looked a bit amazed at how long that had taken but also amused which is okay.

It was a strange moment.

And then he just looked at me and laughed.

"My untrained little orphan," he said and made is stranger.

Weirder.

Then I felt vulnerable again but differently. There's a vulnerability where you want to be held and taught and then there's another. There's another kind that makes you want to be violated for being silly enough to expose yourself; the kind that makes you want to be attacked in your weakness.

"Strike a nerve?" He asked, clearly pleased with himself.

I said nothing. I couldn't.

"Was it this one?" He asked with the back of his hand against my cheek.

That made me laugh.

Giggle.

But daddy doesn't like giggly little girls, they annoy him, so he makes them cry.