The Perils of Shoe Lust

All around me, I see women wearing gorgeous shoes. High heels, spiky boots, bright colors, bold styles. They amaze me, these women. How do they do it? How can they wear those amazing shoes?

Myself, I find shoe shopping a real trial. When I shop for shoes, above all, I look for practicality. If you're on your feet all day, high heels and spiky boots don't seem like the height of comfort. As for the bright colors and the bold styles, well, there are only so many fire engine red outfits I can wear with fire engine red strappy platform heels.

My shoe wardrobe is simple. I have a pair of brown loafers and a pair of black loafers. I have a pair of brown heels and a pair of black heels. I have one pair of sneakers, and one errant pair of gold, strappy heels I bought for a wedding I was in. My shoe wardrobe is very practical and very bland, and for the most part I am happy with that.

Occasionally, though, against my better judgment, I succumb to what can only be called shoe lust. You know what I mean: you see an absolutely stunning pair of shoes that you must own. You don't know what you'll where them with or where you'll wear them to, but you have to have them. For me, buying these shoes is always a bad decision. The last pair of impractical, shoe lust inducing shoes I succumbed to- a pair of fantastic strappy platform sandals- developed an irritating squeak after the second day of wearing them, and after two weeks those awesome straps broke.

I should know never to succumb to shoe lust.

Yet just last week I went out shopping with Andrew for new work shoes for him. There are just so many pairs of brown men's loafers this woman can stare out, so I began to idly browse the aisles. In the woman's section, I passed row after row of impractical shoes and I walked by them without a second glance, but then, right in front of me, there it was, the one thing I cannot resist when out shopping- a clearance sign.

It wasn't just any clearance sign, oh no, this was a 75% off clearance sign. What could it hurt to see what was on sale? I looked at the shelves. Flip flops, sneakers, spiky boots. Nope, nothing for me.... but wait, what was that? There, on the middle shelf was a gorgeous pair of brown leather high, high heels. The most adorable strap wrapped around the top of the foot, attached with a sweet little button. The shoes managed to be both sexy and sweet at the same time. They were my size, too. I wanted them. I had to have them. I thought over my wardrobe- why, yes, I did have several outfits those shoes would look stunning with. I looked at the price: $7.38. That settled it: those shoes were mine.

Now, a girl with a new pair of shoes needs just the right place to premiere them. I had just such an event in mind. Andrew and I had splurged and bought tickets to the touring production of Rent. We had also decided that we would eat at this darling Italian restaurant near the theater to make a full date night of the event. With those new shoes, I could wear my favorite full brown skirt, the one that had a sweet little swing to it and whose hem hit my knees just so. With that skirt, I had a smart-looking cream and gold pinstriped blouse, with quarter length sleeves, a v shaped neckline, and that cinched in at the waist just so. Pair that outfit with my favorite brown stone chandelier earrings and I was all set for a night on the town.

Come date night, the outfit went together just as I thought it would. The skirt swung charmingly, the shirt cinched just so, the earrings dangled gracefully, and the shoes, oh the shoes, they pulled the whole thing together and made the outfit a 15 on a scale of 10. I was set for a night on the town. Andrew and I drove downtown, and parked in a parking garage near the restaurant and, so Andrew told me, near the theater, too. We set off on a walk to the restaurant.

For the first city block, me and my shoes strutted along; on the second city block, we slowed down just a little; on the third city block, the shoes began to pop off my heels with every other step. By the fourth city block, I realized I had a problem, as the shoes were just a smidgen too big, and my foot was rubbing painfully across the insides of them. Thankfully, before we reached a fifth city block, we had reached the restaurant.

After an truly enjoyable meal, Andrew and I set off for the theater. Once again, during the first city block, I was strutting with the best of them; by the second, I was slowing down; by the fifth, I was cursing what must have been temporary insanity that had persuaded me to by the wretched, horrid, hideous shoes. By the seventh block, I was near tears and asking Andrew "Just how much further is the theater again?"

Well, in a fit of unusual male stubbornness, Andrew hadn't admitted to me that when we arrived downtown, he didn't quite know where the theater was, so he parked at the only parking garage he knew which was over a mile away from our destination. It was a very, very, very long walk. At the restaurant, he had quietly asked the waiter exactly where the theater was, and had hoped I wouldn't notice the extra long walk. Well, to his credit, perhaps I wouldn't have noticed the long walk, but my shoes certainly did!

By the time we reached the theater, I was leaning on Andrew like he was life preserver and I was on a sinking ship. I hoped that we looked like a pair of lovebirds, strolling along the avenue, leaning into one another but I'm pretty sure I looked like a woman who was more than a little tipsy as I wobbled and weaved and leaned against Andrew. I was never so relieved to reach the theater and sink into my seat. My shoes- those horrible torture devices- immediately came off.

My feet enjoyed a lovely two and a half hours of freedom.

There was still, however, a very, very long walk back to our car. I was brave, though, and slipped my shoes back on. I gamely walked out of the theater. I boldly walked one city block, then two, then three! Granted, those three city blocks took me 15 whole minutes to walk, but three city blocks! Yet at the end of the third city block, as I waited at a red light for a cross sign, as my feet screamed and I contemplated the many more blocks awaiting me, I made a decision- the shoes were coming off.

I didn't care that I was in the middle of a downtown area. I didn't care that it was winter time and the streets and sidewalks were icy cold. The only thing I cared about was the relief my feet felt as those shoes came off! That fourth city block was sheer bliss to walk! At the end of that fourth city block, Andrew felt the spirit of chivalry, and quickly whipped off his shoes and then his socks. He handed his socks to me, so I would have extra protection as I walked the city streets in my nyloned feet. So, Andrew and I continued on our way, him sock-less in his shoes, me in his socks. At least his socks were in a complementary color to my outfit, a lovely tan color the matched the stripes in my shirt that cinched in just so.

That is what comes of my shoe lust- nothing but pain, blisters, and walking in stocking feet downtown. I think I have finally learned my lesson, to stick with practicality and avoid shoe lust like the plague.

But, I do have an evening out downtown coming up this weekend, and I have a charming chocolate brown dress that I've been dying to wear, that would look smashing with my brown stone chandelier earrings, and as for shoes, why, those new shoes of mine would like fabulous and really make the outfit. Surely, the shoes won't be so bad the second time around? After all, my blisters will be all healed by then! Right? Right?

Sigh. I'll never learn.