Dear shoes.

Dear shoes,

Why do I have so many of you? I thought I was a low-maintenance person, but when I see you, my vast collection of footwear, I am forced to consider that the opposite may be true.

A lot of you are in storage. I've only kept in the front hall those of you that are essential to my every-day life at this moment (no disrespect, comfy brown winter boots with the pom-poms). Still, you are so many in number. Why?

I know why you're there, silver pointy-toed flats. You are new and shiny and hip, and even comfortable (thanks, Soft Moc).

White sandal pumps from Payless, I remember I bought you on a whim one day when I needed open-toed shoes to take to a pedicure appointment, and you have turned out to be one of my most-worn pair of summer shoes. Thanks for that.

Turquoise high-heeled sandals from Rockport. My love for you is real. You make me feel like I'm walking on air, and though I didn't wear you as much as I meant to last season, 2010 is sure to be your year.

Pretty brown flip-flops from Kenya. You get a lot of compliments because you're just so darn attractive. Even though you sometimes discolour the bottoms of my feet, I foresee a long future for us.

Tall black boots. Necessary.

Bronze pumps from Vancouver. Remember how I went back to the store three times before buying you? That was back when $99 seemed like a fortune, and I wanted to make sure I was making the right decision. I think we can both feel confident that I did.

Silver high-heeled sandals and gold high-heeled sandals, you will see me through many a wedding and dressy social function this spring and summer. Thank you in advance.

And you, the triumverate of super duper high heels: red, black, and bronze with the cheap-looking fake jewels on the toe. You joined my wardrobe compliments of the Maria show, so while I may not wear you often, you are still dear to my heart.

Black slip-on Sketchers. You have absolutely no heel support, but you're really easy to slip on when I need to take out garbage or go down to the laundry room, and so you stay.

BUT

You, new black shoes from Spring, have to go. My feet are still healing from our first and only jaunt around the city. I hope I will get my $30 back, though your soles are so obviously scuffed. Had I but known you would crush my tender little toesies so.

As for the rest of you, you may stay for another season, or perhaps five. But, with the blogosphere as my witness, you will not grow in number for at least 6 months.

Thank you for listening, shoes. I'm glad I got that off my chest.

Sincerely,

Alison