All the shoes that's fit to print...

Yes, I have finally given in to my desire to share shoes with the world. I started this blog a year and a half ago, and I've only posted three entries. I've been battling the urge to talk about footwear because footwear is frivolous, right? I suppose it is, although lately I've been facing my fetish square on and let me tell you, the light of day feels good on my face. No more hiding behind higher principles and deep thoughts.

I love shoes. I love shoes. I love shoes. Mostly shoes with heels higher than 2 inches, but even that rule isn't hard and fast. I suspect it has something to do with:
a) having a mother who always wore high heels in rebellion against her petite (5' 2") stature, and whose shoe size I had surpassed by the age of 12 (while it took another 2 years before I even had to think about needing a bra)
b) I have serious issues with just about every part of my body except my feet
c) I'm a librarian, which fairly DEMANDS that I slash the stereotype by wearing anything but sensible shoes to work.

I've been thinking about doing a "Daily Shoe" here for a while, and have only avoided it because it seemed silly to talk about shoes and nothing else. But here I am, so I may as well go ahead. Only 3 people know about my blog anyway, and I'm married to one of them, who knows how I feel (he let me have the "walk-in" closet when we moved into our current digs--because my shoe collection requires a fair amount of storage). So I'm not risking much.

Let me be clear: I'm no Imelda Marcos. Most of my high-end shoe purchases took place when I was with my previous boyfriend; ex-novio had a South American tailor for a father, and the man had some taste. Expensive taste. Much of my lifestyle during that relationship might be summed up by the phrase "keeping up with the Joneses." He was a good person and I believe he loved me, but I spent five years ignoring how wrong he was for me. For a lot of reasons I won't go into. But meanwhile, I sure did some shopping. A nice distraction, I suppose, from all those reasons he was wrong for me. Many a shopping spree--and I use the word "spree" in the same sense meant when modified by "killing"--began with a little stroll around the mall, and snowballed quickly from spotting a nice little pair somewhere. After having-to-find-a-skirt-
to-match-the-shoes-and-a-top-to-match-the-skirt-and-a-bag-and-and-jewelry
-to-match-the-ensemble-and-some-fresh-makeup-to finish-the-look. To the tidy sum of, say, 400 bucks or so. Like most addicts, it took some time and lots of $$ before I recognized the compulsion. And it all started with the gateway shoes.

Hubby is right for me and then some. And he doesn't (or didn't) have clue one about shoes. He's pretty laid back and doesn't own more than about 5 pairs of shoes if you count the workout sneaks. But he's willing to watch "What Not to Wear" (both the British and the American ones); he lets me explain the difference between a slingback and an espadrille, and he accepts the shoe-worshipping part of me readily. He'll even absorb my eager lessons about how to recognize a wedge or a peep-toe and point out examples to prove he was paying attention. The sweet boy will even ask questions. Not because he's particularly interested in shoes, but because he's interested in my hobbies and in me. It's a very sweet thing to have someone who wants to know and share all the things--big and small--that make me, well, me.

So watch for the shoes.