"I did not have three thousand pairs of shoes, I had one thousand and sixty." ~Imelda Marcos, 1987
Anyone who knows me knows I love my shoes. All my shoes. And my boots. Every last pair. Consequently, my shoe man loves me. He’s Japanese, speaks limited English, so I assume to express his appreciation for me has been known to hug me. He should; I must pay his light bill every month. I mean, if you spend good money on shoes that you love it’s advisable to spend a little each year on upkeep- that way you can double or more the life of said beloved shoes.
Every day I wear heels- generally 5” platform stilettos. I do actually have some flats- 5 pairs, I believe. You’ll see me sans heels when working out, going barefoot or when I’m sick. The rest of the time I’m in my heels. I may be wearing a $10.00 thrift shop dress, but it’s a pretty good bet that the shoes were...more.
Yesterday I wore a pair that, in my world of I-love-all-my-shoes, I love perhaps a little more than some of the others. They’re such standout shoes that they wind up having the starring role in any ensemble. Not to hurt any of my other shoes’ feelings, but these shoes are truly wicked. Wicked, hot, and dangerous. No, really- the platform is a couple of inches, but I measured them and the heel is almost 6”. That must be the highest heel I own.
I’m not one to claim any sort of exceptional intelligence, but I get by- in these shoes however I’m reduced to the cliché ‘can’t walk and chew gum.’ I really have to pay attention.
After walking my son to school I got home- time to walk the dogs. In the wicked, dangerous shoes. I looked at my 16 ½ yr old mutt. She ‘looked’ back at me (I put this in quotation marks because she’s got a cataract in one eye and is blind in the other. But she always seems to know where I am.) She started up her tippy-tappy-toe-toe ‘we’re going walkie’ dance. She may be blind, deaf and NOT dumb, in any sense of the word, but she sure has quality of life. I envisioned the fight to get the harness on her- her wiping her snotty nose on me (especially if I’m wearing my purple suede boots) then the rediscovery every day of exactly where that darned front door is hiding, then the exuberant, headlong plunge down the stairs at whatever angle strikes her as being the best for that day….
I love my shoes. I love my animals. And I don’t see the point in risking death or ruining my beautiful shoes for the sake of a walk. That benefits no one.
Yesterday morning Lolly got to wipe her nose on my red suede sneakers. I guess even something as important as fashion has it's limitations. :-)