The Shoeaholic Confession
My wardrobe was a fashionable mess. I disarranged all the glamourous outfits while frantically looking for anything that didn’t belonged there for the big move. It was not meant to reign in my kingdom of style anymore. It was time to tear the wears and move on.
Suddenly, I tripped on a black open-stripped heeled-wedge shoe, made of real leather, inches four, an Aldo design, unlimited stock at sheshoe.co, size six. My favorite pair of shoe. Well, that’s just about what I’d say to each of the other twenty one+ plus pairs. Possibly the estimated number of only the shoes commonly used of which am aware of, since I still stock some several ambiguous pairs often. Let’s just say it was amongst my most worn outing shoe. I was startled at first, fell on the ground helplessly worried that I ruined it with all my clumsiness. After a thorough three dimensional inspection it was fine, with no scratch but just my foot bruises. I held it up towards the light to confirm. It lay on my arms magnificently as if not guilty of almost injuring my legs of which it ought to awe for its existence. The nostalgia that followed made me feel like I was being shifted back in time. To the past, where I stood at the black and white background as the moments unwind.
We first met at the mall…staring at each other through the shop’s glass window. Something whispered that we were a perfect fit, that we would go so many places together and create a great fashion statement. And she in all her glory would effortlessly match with any clothe I clad. Unfortunately, the shoeshop was closed for the holidays so I could not bond with Aldoess (the brand’ with end added ‘ess) through the basic sole purchase procedure of must-fit-my-feet as am thee shoe’s Cinderella.
“I would need you in my shoe-rack, safe with me even if it is just for display before I figure out, probably after a decade, what to put you on with,” dear Aldoess.
The issue with shoe-aholic is the illusion that you might just grow a millipede of extra legs or that shoe would just make the whole difference one a bad outfit day. The D-day of an important occasion that may strike you with the ‘nothing to wear dilemma’. And behold, the pair of shoe you bought two month ago with your atm or appointment fee would just be your style icon, intrigued by me, my style, my persona.
But I was just the team’s group discussion representative, the adequate leader. I had shared a project with them some time ago but I doubt they ever noticed me in meetings. We were a large bunch then, most were new, like me, still conserved so shy so unsure of what to wear in the real world, after years of rigid uniformity in school’s clothing choices. But now my shoes were never an inch three or lower, I managed walks on rocky paths even in a sixth` inch. You’d think I’d get a degree for this high ranking levels too, nada. But the challenge was not for attention nor style at first, it was to hide my unusual height measure which felt below average if one aspired to model. I believed the higher it is the cooler and confident I became. And it was, without a doubt becoming a shoe addiction, a norm, now.
We were assigned different targets, presented our teamwork and got our meaningful remarks. So consequently, the group chat would have its members ‘left’ and it eventually deleted by the group admin. But their head still had my contact on phone, stating to have saved me in their contact list as bossedup babe, quite flittering? Not much, quite unoriginal charm. I’ll admit, I had a small fancrush on them which I never let develop cause of obvious circumstances; underrated. That was when I was newly and a little too green about them. After a while, they casually texted me. Just as the youth of this days do before they ask you for a favor. Guess they haven’t grown a mature pair of titties and balls to ask face to face as we do in the adulting life, charging at it boldly. Anyways, I replied to them just meeting me at area next week. It was too good to be true and I needed some time to slow down the celebrity infatuations that often lead to problematic decisions.
Coincidentally, by whatever force summoned we met at the mall that weekend. They helped me carry my groceries and pushed the trolley as I insisted to pay for all my goods. We passed by that shoe shop, I finally got a chance to touch your highness leather, costly price tag though, but after feeling the quality you would agree it was worth it. They sensed my adoration for shoes, probably as anyone who sees me as often as thrice a week would. They then reached out for the left side of the same shoe, stared at it, felt it and told me they wanted to buy the pair for me, now, that they didn’t mind the expense, but I shook my head almost immediately and vigorously at that and said I actually don’t need it. Of course I lied. They say, the pair of shoes I owned were enough to be worn for a whole month without repeating either one. They then asked me outright, to accompany them to their secret society clique event soon, for good ol friends sake, they cautiously added. I bet the guests got monotonous and exhausting so they saw never interested me, till now. Thought, and just said okay and thar I needed to go. Though the response didn’t gather out as a committed yes nor a sound no. They dove in for and awkward hug that muscled my neck, I panicked. Finally they left the shop, tooking out the phone to make a quick call while walking away unbothered. They did not exactly turn or look back to say bye. They didn’t mention the day nor say what time? Would they still call me on that? And was I really gonna show up? Should I care? Anyway, why was I building expectations?
I got to my amble homr so excited, I forgot about my predicaments. The shoe box was laying on my bed, waiting to be unwrapped once again and the shoe let free from its box. No guilt or shame, I deserved to buy it right? There is an event coming up, good excuse for an extra pair of shoe…when the last time you bought a new pair was three weeks ago during that agitating time period. I wore it again, cat walked around the room and from then on eagerly awaited the day I would take it out into the world’s runway. During the eve of that week , they were so indulged with me, waited for me outside halls after breaks, brought me foods and flowers. All declined graceful on claim of diet fasts or allergies. They showedup with an excuse of borrowing supplies from my stock and forcing me to have to come take it back. All such basic bonding behavior. And in return I tolerated. My factor was against accepting gifts from them, though I convinced myself I would oblige to ignore them.
But they almost stood me up, no, they came up with another agenda. It was pettier, badder and preferably of no harm. They said they forgot, misplaced my number, believed I would never come that I was just leading them on without letting them benefit from the friendship. Jokes on them, I indeed arrived but never entered, I detoured.
What now! The hostelry pub was packed. But I still stuck around, watched the vip performances and danced and sang along. Not because I was not haunted or that I was trying to stage an act. It was simply because I looked too good in these goddamn shoes to waste a night of beautiful pain breaking into the new pair. No, all the photos I took were not enough to copy paste what the reflections projected. So, whose lose was it. And besides, facts is am not allowed to chase such approval in these heels.
So should I get rid of the shoe that holds much memory of the turnover of scenes in its sole? But maybe if I had let thee buy me the lovely shoes instead of me getting them myself, then keeping them would be another complicated story. Since it would feel awkward owning what’s not really yours. I came back home and the mellowing stage dawned on me heavily. I felt the urge to hit walls with my flat sandals or stamp their overstepping feet with my six inch shoe.
I got up from the floor in my mauve gown and looked around. This was not how I would end my night of epic fashion policy; it don’t look good until everyone has seen or profusely appreciated it. I wore those detrimental heels and got my closet in order then returned the belongings in their initial state. The situation was not worth losing a shoelace over a pile of thrown cloths. At least I still had my heels, head and status high.
Cc. A real Shoe-aholic buys her own pair of shoes, it always fits!
Shoe love is true love.
Yes, am a shoeaholic & No I don’t need help.
Code:Shoe~Haves~Of~Elegant~And~Assence-Her~Only~Life~In~Care (sign.è)
@2016Nov.ellè
