Weitzmans, Blahniks and Choos... Sigh. Oh My.

I am a self-proclaimed shoe hound. I love shoes... not in the Carrie-Bradshaw-$600-dropping shoe kind of way, but certainly in the love-them-gotta-have-them kind of way. I love all kinds of shoes... slippers (that's flip flops to the non-Hawaiians), sneakers, hiking/outdoor shoes (love, love, love my Merrells and Timberlands), fashion sport shoes (just made that up... think: Puma), sandals, ballet flats and all the trends in between. I make up for not having the money to buy designer brands (although even if I did have the money, my frugalness and disgust at the thought of spending that kind of money on shoes would ultimately be the end of me-- I mean, I love shoes, but COME ON PEOPLE!) by buying shoes with character from funky stores like my two faves on 23rd Street in Manhattan (if I ever remembered the names of them, I would share... I promise), Nordstrom Rack (you can find GEMS if you have the patience to wade through the vanilla) and the newest find: eBay.

But the question I ask of companies that manufacture fancy (translation: heels) shoes is this: Why the hell don't you have a comfort-tester?

I mean, you're expecting people to spend money-- and lots of it, on shoes... and then you go and make them instruments of torture. Case and point: my navy Stewart Weitzman sling backs. They're everything a designer shoe should be (and might I add, the only "name" designer shoe I actually have... purchased at Filene's Basement at basement prices: $15 for a $250 shoe). They're beautiful: perfect heel height-- just slightly over kitten; they make my calves look thin and give them that perfect, slightly muscular-but-still feminine look that a good heel does; and best of all, they make my size 9 feet look narrow and petite.

But they are the most uncomfortable things that I've ever worn (well, second most, if you count the stillettos I thought I could get away with on my recent Florida trip). I thought that I'd be able to pull off the whole walking to work in cute shoes thing... after all, it's only a few blocks from the bus, and I see hundreds of girls every week wearing much higher and more uncomfortable-looking shoes. And for once I didn't want to look like a total schlub in my suit and dirty sneakers... the 80s, walking commuter look. I wanted to be one of those posh girls who get the enviable looks on the bus and when walking down the street in their pencil skirts and matching heels.

So instead, I ended up limping to the office, wondering if I could get away with walking barefoot the last block and still come off looking pulled together... surely that would be better than mimicking Igor after he says, "Walk this way." And to add insult to injury, I secured two blisters, each squarely located on the palms of my feet (if feet have palms) and cementing the start to another great day at the office.

It should be Monday.