Of shoes and sentience

How many pairs shoes are too many?

How many pairs shoes are normal?

These are questions that have recently begun to plague me.

They may not be deep, existential questions, but they bother me nonetheless.

shoes 1

This was the comment that set it all off.

(As an aside, this is a fabulous blog called A brunette kind of thing. You should definitely go and have a look)

I have maybe 9.

10 since I bought a new pair of leopard print Nikes on Saturday.

Including slippers, boots, flats, heels – basically any item of footwear.

shoes 2


shoes 3


I still like to wear my new shoes out of the shop, like a child.

I thought maybe it was a girl thing, but then two men pointed out that they own about 30 different types of sneakers each.

They maybe spornosexuals, but still I had to reconsider.

shoes 4

I have had to come to terms with sad and distressing fact, that I am letting the side down.

I am a freak.

I do not have enough shoes to qualify as a self-respecting woman.

I should be ashamed to set foot outside the front door.

My father must be mortified.

My father loves shoes.

When I was sent off to boarding school, he was tasked with finding me a pair of slippers.

They were gorgeous. Possibly the most gorgeous slippers I have ever owned.

They were black velvet, with a kitten heel and little pouf of feathers over the toe.

The boarding school matron took one look and declared them unsuitable for a 13-year-old girl and promptly confiscated them.

I had to endure an entire term of seeing her mince around in my slippers while I had to wear the most disgusting grey pair of granny slippers she found suitable for me.


I still hate her for that.


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