I never did share this story:
Once upon a time there was a young woman who lived in the northern heart of her land. There were farm peppered hills, green trees, and miles and miles of country roads to take her to and from the city. One year she left home and traveled West to study at an old monastery. For three years she sang, she studied, she traveled, and she met the best friends she's ever had. It was here that she not only learned about the world, but most of all, she learned who she was; she learned about her Creator, who she was to Him and a little bit more about what He had made her to do. Then one day, in the middle of May, they told her she was done, that she could leave. So on that day in the middle of May she put on her best dress and the traditional robes of her strange country (she thought the hat was a bit much).
Then all their parents gathered to watch them as they paraded single file across the stage. And they marched one by one across the black platform to the rhythm of a man shouting Latin in step to the sound of their names. And as she beat across that stage, a culmination of sixteen years hard work, knowing her mother was definitely crying, all she heard were the hurried tones of the choir director whisper, "GREAT SHOES!"