Typical of most females is a love affair with leather delectables that grace the feet. My friends pontificate over the perfect match of shoe to garment, agonizing over the slope and height of heel as if they’re solving a complex trigonometric equation. Years ago, I understood that fashion starts at my ankles – when I wear boots at my knees.
There’s no rhyme or reason to which shoes cooperate with my misbehaving muscles, particularly my left foot, which acts like a caged beast desperate to escape confinement. I apply a simple test: (1) do my feet stay in the shoes; if yes, go to part (2) do they make my walking worse? Mind you, my body’s apt to play naughty tricks. I’ll put the shoes through boot camp in-store, all systems go. Then invariably, I can’t walk in the shoes when I need them. Prince Charming’s quest for Cinderella’s singular foot has nothing on my footwear missions. I dread shopping for sneakers!
The moral of this story: They say shoes make the outfit, but in my book, the most important item we wear is our smile!