I am a girl, so please, allow me to have a moment with my shoes.
I love shoes. All kinds of shoes. I don't discriminate. I feel that like love for fellow human beings, love for shoes comes in many different sizes, shapes, and colors.
There's love for shoes like your comfiest pair of flip-flops, or your most reliable pair of sneakers, which is not unlike the love you have for your family or your closest friends. You rely on them daily, you NEED them, and even when you've blistered your poor feet wearing those flashy but fickle four-inch heels, you know you can always depend on your faithful shoes to provide comfort.
And as I mentioned, there are, of course, those super-hip cool shoes that beckon from enticing department store windows and displays. They tease you with their patent leather, shiny buckles, impossible heels, and to-die-for (no matter how impractical) colors. You know you shouldn't but you do and as soon as you wear them (now it's too late to return them), they reveal their true selves. They pinch your toes, give you blisters, and clash with every article of clothing you own. Bastards.
Then there are those shoes that are PERFECT. The kind of shoes you fall head over heels in love with. The kind that look amazing, make you feel amazing, and everyone else agrees that you make an unstoppable shoes-human duo. I have been in love like this exactly twice.
The first time was in high school. Red velvet Airwalks. They became my signature shoe. I still have them because I can't bring myself to throw them away. As you know, the first love is the one that sticks. The one that will never be forgotten.
It's been a long time since I've been in love. I was about to give up hope when it happened. Struck me like a thunderbolt when I was least suspecting it. There, in the vast underground shopping malls of Nagoya train station, I saw them. I was magnetically drawn to those metallic turquoise blue strappy stilletos. I tried them on and I KNEW that these were meant for my feet. They were the most beautiful pair of shoes I have ever seen and I felt this unshakeable desire to possess these remarkable shoes. Ruth shook me out of my reverie by pointing at the price tag: $130. I couldn't possibly bring myself to pay that kind of money, could I? I decided not to and I put them back.
Two full weeks later, I was still thinking about those shoes and I made up my mind that I had to go back and get them. I had no choice because otherwise, I would go insane and probably buy lots of ugly shoes to fill the void, a potentially dangerous path. I went back to Nagoya station and searched for hours, but could not find that shoe shop. As predicted, I settled for a mediocre pair of heels. My rebound shoes. Felt good at the time, but now I realize my mistake.
This all happened in May. Six months later, I still regret not buying those shoes. I should learn to listen to my gut instinct because I never found another pair like them, even after having looked through numerous shoe stores and about 10,000 pairs of strappy heels at Zappos.com. Not even close. They were one-of-a-kind, the most beautiful heels to have ever been sculpted from man-made materials. And I let them get away.
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