I finally found you. I looked at all the lovely brand recommendations my blog readers kindly gave me. I tried some pairs on. I pondered, I thought, I wrinkled my brow. Somewhere in there I may have harumphed.
I bought you late last week when my feet couldn't take it anymore, and luckily, you delivered. You've survived five days of 8-hour shifts and my feet no longer throb. In fact, if they could, they would sing. Sing your praises, sing you a love song. I'd be okay with my feet becoming ballad singers. Watch out, Celine.
And not only that, you are so damn stylish. You don't look orthopedic in nature, which is what many of your forefathers looked like when they prioritized comfort. You look like some version of shoe that, if I was living in the 1960s, I would have totally rocked you. But I live in 2010, and I still think you are awesome. Knowing that I can wear your heels makes me feel better about my day. I look down at you during the day and I smile. Maybe I will buy your cousins in different colors and you could create a band and tour the country. Maybe I will name you. For now you are Righty and Lefty. You are worthy of more creative names.
Now if you knew how to make milkshakes, file taxes and curl my hair, you would be the best shoe of all time. Of all of history. Maybe you could start working on those skills. I'll be patient.
Love and Pedicures,
