the morning blues

There I stood- staring at the shoe rack in my closet.

Confident at today's outfit selection- black pants with blue stripes and a white short sleeve top.
"All I need is some blue shoes then I really need to hurry to work."

Upon realizing I do not own blue high heels...

"Shoot! I don't have any shoes to wear!"

Words begin to register with the logic in my brain... (it's still early after all)

"Melody, did you really just think that? Just because you don't own blue shoes doesn't mean you don't have any to wear. You don't need a pair of shoes in every color of the rainbow."

I briefly counter the voice of reason...

"But, it'd be nice."

I roll my eyes at my ridiculous thoughts, sigh deeply, and reach for the black ones.

Another day has begun.

I have a shoe fetish. I like almost everything about them. I like finding them in the clearance section. I am intrigued that the world keeps coming up with new ways to design & display shoes. I like using them as the top notch accessory to finish off any outfit.

The love of shoes began young for me. When I started my first job at The Piano Loft gift shop at the tender age of 14, I got to buy my own clothes (and shoes). One particular pair stands out to me...they were camel colored "beefed-up" Mary Janes. I loved them. My dad tried to deter the love of shoes by referring to them as "clod-hoppers", but it was too late. The shoe world had sucked me in and there was no turning back now. I soon became infatuated with looking taller, I found a pair of black & white athletic shoes...with a 3 inch platform. Granted, they weighed 5 pounds each with all that extra rubber glued on the bottom, but I loved them.
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One of my first memorable moments of confusion as an adolescent involved shoes. I guess I looked up to my sister for some things. I was amazed at how she could make different outfits with mixing different clothing items. But she had a pair of black, velvet-like Mary Janes. I loved them. I'd wear them in secret and put them back where I found them before she got home. Then- one fine day I saw the same pair on clearance and bought them. When I brought them home, she was angry. I tried to reason with her and promised to never wear them on the same day as her, so we wouldn't match. (Apparently that was a bad thing for sisters to do.) But she exclaimed, "I don't care if we wear them on the same day or not! I don't want you to have the same pair of shoes as me! I'm never going to wear mine again." And she didn't.
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My shoes tell different stories. I think that's why I have such a hard time getting rid of the ones I don't wear anymore. It's a size 8 memory.