Penny Shoes

So, ziss is vhen ve talk about ze traditions of my people, ze Germans. Some uzzer day ve vill discuss ze Irish side off mein family, but now you must go to fetch your strudel and your lederhosen, for ve are learning all about ze hochzeitsschuhe!

Sie sind wunderschon, nicht wahr?

Hochzeitsschuhe means wedding shoes, which the German bride will traditionally pay for with the thousands of pfennigs she collects during her engagement.

Which would be fine, if anybody still paid with cash. Over the three months we've been engaged, I've managed to dig up 263 pennies from couch cushions and the Take a Penny, Leave a Penny jar at the convenience store. It should feel like an accomplishment to collect 263 of anything, but I'm still a long way off; you can't even find a pair of shoes at Goodwill for less than $5. Sure, I could exchange a few twenties for all the pennies I want, but ZAT VOULD BE CHEATING, AND YOU KNOW WHAT HERR BELSNICKEL DOES TO ZE NAUGHTY, CHEATING KINDER.

You'd think this would be easier. I'm marrying someone who looks at coins for a living.

I have nine months left before the wedding.* By August you may find me on Venice Beach, performing a little dance in my wooden clogs with a cardboard sign that reads, "Pennies only, please." And as they pass, the nice people will say, "Pennies aren't obsolete yet?" and the mean people will be like, "Nice knee socks, loser."

"Herr Belsnickel vill get you, you vicked dummen kopf!" I'll try to shout after them, but I'll probably be too out of breath. Clog dancing is hard, guys.

Assuming I can scrounge up enough pennies to buy some shoes, there is a second part of the tradition: Before setting off down the aisle, the bride's mother tucks a sprig of dill and a pinch of salt in the right hochzeitsschuh. However, I think I'll probably skip that part. I don't much fancy setting off on our honeymoon with der Pickle Foot.



*HOLY CRAP I ONLY HAVE NINE MONTHS BEFORE MY WEDDING!!


Image via Becuo.