In my world there are really only two kinds of shoes that count… Pretty boots and pretty heels.  Sure, sure.  There are sneakers and flats and flip-flops and stuff but those are all second class citizens in my world.  I wear them out of necessity.  Practicality.  When one goes on a ten mile walk, one wears walking shoes.  Not because they’re pretty, because they keep your feet happy and healthy to wear the pretty shoes later.

I will admit that in the high-heel world I have a bit of a weakness for the peep-toe sling-back variety so it should come as no surprise that when my mom wanted to buy me something for my birthday the shopping led to the shoe department.  I intended to be practical.  I need a pair of black flats for shuffling around the neighborhood when the weather turns a bit nicer.  A nice black flat is a staple of any shoe wardrobe.

I haven’t had a nice black flat in years upon years because I hate them.  It’s nearly impossible for me to find one I don’t just hate.  Yet I try.

Surprisingly I found none that fit the bill, but there across the room I saw a thing of beauty.  Peep-toe, sling-back, platform wedges in a bright shiny pink (my boyfriend would argue the color of the shoe, but I’m a girl and I’m calling it pink). I skirted them.  I kept an eye on them from a distance.  I didn’t want to get too close.  Didn’t want to scare them away.  Didn’t want to get attached.  Didn’t want to want them.

After all, it snowed last night.  In March.  In Portland.  In Spring.  All the Portland schools either had late start or were cancelled today.  You know, from the snow.

And there I was stalking my pink peep-toe prey.  Beautiful creatures nestled together for safety.  That’s when I saw it.

Shoe blood.  Red tag.  They were on sale.

I found a justification.  One of my baby cousins is getting married this summer.  It’s a garden wedding.  There will be lawn.  I can’t possibly wear a spiked heel.  I totally need some wedges because we all know Cami Kaos can’t find a flat she likes to save her life.  I circled and made my move.  Opened the box, smiled, slipped them on my quivering feet.

Sigh.

I circled the shoe section testing them out.  Striding happily in the 5-inch platform wedges, glad I shaved my legs that morning.  Wishing I’d painted my toes something other than the St. Patrick’s day green.

They came home with me and now I’m just biding my time until mother nature, that frigid bitch, thaws out enough to promise a lack of frostbite when I wear them.

Soon.  Very soon…