Imelda Marcos Doesn’t Have Anything On Me…

Flats. Peep-toe Espadrilles. Pointy black heels. Sequined thongs with a corked heel. Signature Burberry wedges. Flip-Flops. Stilettos.

Eight pairs of shoes. I couldn’t believe it. I had bought eight pairs of shoes in ONE single hour. I had cashed only 100 dollars from my check, and soon realize that I have an addiction and am in dire need of rehab; yes, I am now an openly, and self proclaimed shoe whore. And yet, as I sit in my room, piles of shoes surrounding me as I wonder where I will neatly store my newfound treasures, I gaze down at my naked feet- each of my ten toes perfectly pedicured, and I ask myself- if I have so many shoes, why am I always barefoot?

In a sad attempt to answer this, as well as solve my space dilemma, my alternate personality, the 8 year old child with ADD, takes over me, and I calmly leave my heap of shoes in my room, on the floor to go downstairs because I really just want an apple.