Y'all know that I have a serious substance abuse issue. I do love me some shoes. This problem has been identified and well-documented in the past. Since returning from Europe, things have taken a turn for the worse. Well, I guess it did start while in Europe, technically. In the month of July , I succumbed to tempation and acquired four additional pairs of shoes. I've even had to add more shelving to my closet in order to hold all of the shoes I own. (Actually, that's not even true. I have five pairs of shoes at the office for when I cycle to work and I left three pairs in London for my then-planned move to London to be with Brit Boy and they are supposedly on their way back to me.)
The shoes you see to the left are just my latest acquisition. They're these fabulous Adidas track shoes that come with cleats. They're super comfy and I got a lot of compliments when I took them out for their maiden voyage (sans cleats) the other night. However, I've decided that I might be interested in wearing them with the cleats. That way, if someone pisses me off, I can simply stomp on their foot with the cleats and give them their due.
Hey! Don't judge!! I'm a bundle of emotions these days. You never know what might just set me off!!!
Fashion emergency!!! Fashion emergency!!!! I've lost track of a pair of shoes!
*deep breath* This morning as I was preparing to head to the office, I thought it'd be nice to wear a particular pair of shoes. I do to try spread the love around to all my shoes. They all deserve a little bit of Cary-time. This morning, I was thinking of wearing a nice pair of dirty-mustard colored Kenneth Cole Reaction shoes with black and brown accents and wood-grained soles. However... *gasp*
They're gone. Nowhere to be found. I scoured the house this morning as I was getting ready. My heart started to race. Where oh where could they be?!?!? I don't know if I can handle the thought of losing another pair of my babies. I cried for days after the last time this happened. It's just too much to handle.
I think I'm gonna make up flyers and post them on telephone poles to see if anyone has seen them recently. I can only hope.
I'm at my mom's in Kansas City helping her recover from recent medical issues. This isn't the first time I've been to her house here (she only moved in a couple of years ago), but this is the first time I think I've really explored the place. It's funny the things you notice that would drive you absolutely crazy in the design and layout of an abode. I know I couldn't live here. Why?
The closets are WAY too small. I wouldn't even have room for my shoes!!
I. Like. Shoes. I mean, I *really* like shoes. I feel it's just so important to have a large selection of shoes to choose from when putting your outfits together.
These are my shoes. Well, most of them. Some of my friends say I have an addiction. Some have tried to stage interventions. All to no avail. I keep searching for new acquisitions.
Especially after this past week. Cuz this past week, tragedy struck. I lost a pair of boots. Brown suede Kenneth Cole ankle boots, to be precise. To recount the events that led up to the loss simply fills my eyes with tears.
I was at the gym. I had changed into my workout clothes and put my street clothes into my locker. I worked out. I came back into the locker room to shower and change. That's when I realized. That's when I realized I had basically abandoned my boots. I had left them out when I put everything else into my locker.
So, someone, somewhere has my boots. Someone took my babies. I hope they treat them well, cuz they deserve to be loved. Caressed. Brushed on a regular basis. Paired with a cute pair of jeans, dark button-down shirt, with the sleeves rolled up.
So what does this all mean? I need to go shopping. For there is now a vacancy in my shoe rack. And we all know that nature abhors a vacuum.
Today was Sunday brunch. This means that a large faggle convenes over at a friend's place for mimosas (a.k.a. Buck's Fizz), trash talking, and various menu items from the W.A.S.P. Cookbook. Trust me - it's a southern thing.
Near the end of the brunch, our host brought out a pair of ill-fitting boots he received from his loving mother, offering them up to whomever they might fit.
Oh... did I mention these were Prada boots?
Well, after various of us tried to force our feet into the Cinderella shoes, it came down to three people. For one, the boots seemed slightly too large. For another, they were just a bit tight. And yes, dear goldilocks, one was just right.
So what's the point of me telling you this? Just as it seemed sure that Ms. Goldilocks was gonna go home with her Rice-A-Roni, a newcomer to the brunch blurted out, "Someone get me a salt tablet. I'll make my feet swell up so those damn things fit!!!"
Don't come between a fag and her Prada, m-kay!!
