The other night I finally cleaned out my shoe area (it's not actually a closet, but that's another blog post for another evening) and realized that I may indeed have a shoe fetish. Just a little one. Tiny, really. But possibly quite real, indeed.
Fifteen pairs, not counting the ones I threw out. (Those included one that didn't seem to have a mate. Not sure how that happened.)
|From Sofi Ballet 09|
Now before you get too vociferous in your objection to this extravagance in the life of the wife of a schoolteacher and a woman who like to fancy herself green and frugal, let me tell you that I didn't pay more than $15 for any of these shoes (except the sneakers) and I wear every pair on a regular basis (that is, as regularly as you can wear one out of fifteen pairs of shoes). Each pair has a special purpose in my wardrobe. It's own personality, if you will. A personality that speaks to a particular mood of mine and enhances and rounds it out, also making it possible for members of my family (if they ever paid that much attention to what shoes I'm wearing, which they don't) to actually judge my metal state by my shoe choices. I will refrain from boring you with a recital of said personalities. For now. If I run into a long spell of nothing to talk about, all bets are off.