There are some numbers a girl hates to admit.
Ask me my age, my weight, how many Girl Scout cookies I can eat in one sitting, and I’ll happily divulge information.
Ask me how many pairs of shoes I own and I’ll avert my eyes and mutter something about how women need so many pairs of shoes because our wardrobes are more, um, complicated. Yes! Complicated! That’s it!
I am a working gal who needs to look at least semi-professional most days. I’m a woman about town (humor me, here) who occasionally likes to prove she cleans up well.
I’m a cyclist, a kayaker, an avid walker (who owns an energetic dog), and a sometimes runner. I’m a gardener — I compost!
This totally justifies, don’t you see, the fact that I have everything from cute leopard-spotted wedges to tall green rubber boots meant for mucking through the weeds. I’ve got proper black pumps and adorable red suede peep-toe pumps.
I’ve got silver and blue shoes that clip into the pedals of my bike and Mary Jane trekkers meant to hold me tight to the rough terrain…of my suburban neighborhood. I have embroidered denim clogs just because they were irresistible.
My latest purchase: a pair of those barefoot shoes. You know, the ones that make you look like a gorilla.
They look weird and truthfully, they feel weird. They are supposed to mimic the perfectly natural and healthy way we all walked before shoes were invented. (The irony of that is not lost on me.)
I reason (rationalize?) that they are the perfect antidote to the days when I choose cute over comfort. And yeah, I get that I’m like the person who orders the biggie-sized fast food meal with a diet soda. I don’t want bunions, but I sure do like a 3-inch heel. I’m willing to take one for my team of 10 toes by alternating orthopedic with haute couture.
Either way, people are checking out my feet.