Have you ever felt such a crazy mad desire for a pair of shoes? So much so, that a voice inside your head screams out “I must have those shoes. My very existence depends on those shoes.” In fact the very idea of not having those shoes cripples your brain and paralyses your heart. Well, it happened to me.
It was a tragic day at the bargain shoe shop at Westfield when my feet met their inamorata. It was a pair of dangerously high, uncomfortable, exquisitely beautiful gold glitter shoes. The little girl within me, the part of myself that never really grew up squealed with delight at the sight of those shoes. And every week since that fateful day in the store I have yearned for those shoes.
I try telling myself not to think about those biped glittering balls of light. There is no point in buying those shoes. Where am I going to where them? I’m not exactly party central and I do not foresee any future events that would require getting sprained ankles from dancing to the Jackson 5. But still there it is, in the back of my mind. I want those shoes. I am crazy about those shoes. What can I say, they are just so pretty.
Well, a girl can dream.
