Omigod, Shoes

So it's been a while since my last post. For those of you who feel slighted, wronged, or let down by this, may I refer you to my first post, in which I detail how I am a killer of blogs. You were warned.

That said, I am not ready to accept my inevitable defeat, and am finally going to post something worthwhile on here.

Here goes.

The poor decision, which has led to blinding, consuming addiction, and which I repeat on a near daily basis is the decision, nay the need, to purchase shoes.

It began innocently enough, and, as a point of fact it's all my parent's fault. Mere moments after my birth, soft cuddly baby booties were placed on my innocent feet, and something in my head clicked. Angels sung, lightning flashed, climax was achieved! Or something similar. I'm not one to quibble over details.

Years passed. Shoes came, shoes went. Little hand knitted sandals. Those tacky little jelly things that were so hip in like 2001 and that they're trying to bring back for some reason. An enormous pair of Union Jack platforms with these tacky tacky laces that I bought at Hot Topic and thought were the shit. These adorable green bowling style shoes that I wore until my mother threw them out. Black corduroy ballet flats that cost all of three dollars. About a million pairs of flip flops. My first pair of two hundred dollar boots. Excuse me, I need a minute to compose myself.

Alright, I'm back.

The point is, that shoes are amazing. When I see a good pair of shoes, I go all weak at the knees. And I'm not talking about comfort here. I'm not talking about function. I'm talking peep-toe fuck-me pumps. I'm talking platforms. I'm talking patent leather. I'm talking orange strappy sandals. I'm talking foot crippling, blister giving, ankle breaking, stairs falling, heart stopping fabulous fucking shoes. I may need another minute.

I suppose I should refocus myself. This entry isn't supposed to be about bragging about how fabulous my new cork platforms are, or how cute my ankles and calves look in those hot little green booties I bought last month, or how many fantastic pairs of shoes I have (at last count, a paltry 35 pairs). This entry is supposed to be about poor decisions, and defeating them. Turning poor decisions into opportunities for learning. For growth.

AND SO, in the spirit of growth, of literacy, and of giving it the old college try, I am facing my addiction.

I admit it. I admit I have a problem with shoes. I admit, that when pressed, the decision over whether to buy groceries or to buy a fabulous new pair of pumps becomes rather more difficult than it really ought to be. I admit that I have fantasized about last season's amazing Prada heels with the ribbons ohmygod. I admit that I have theorized that if I were a pair of shoes, I'd be these fantastic printed silk pumps by Pucci that I saw once in Vegas and have obsessed about since. I admit that I have cooed at the windows of particularly nice shoe stores as if they were full of goddamn puppies. I admit it.

And I do not regret it. Poor financial planning be damned. Nordstrom is having a sale next week, and there are some seriously cute boots in their catalog. Who's with me?

-Rachael