There he was. Tall and sexy with six inches of hotness. He whispered to me, "Can I come home with you?" I didn't say no. Afterall, what woman can resist Jimmy Choo?
I own 6-inchers and 4-inchers. Platforms, flats, and Mary-Janes. Peep-toes and open-toes. All of these represent a fabulous shoe portfolio, but something is missing. Several somethings. Manolo, Choo, and Louboutin. They stand tall and emulate the three C's. Copy me, Crave me, and Covet me. They're the big dogs. Or, in this case the Big B's. **sigh** I heart Big B's.
My portfolio will not be complete until these are resting in my closet. My goal is to have one of each. Oh, who am I kidding? I want them all, in every color! And if by chance I actually slipped my piggies in a pair, I'm pretty sure I'd faint. But, that's okay because my feet would look damn sexy sprawled across the floor. Right now, all I can do is look. And drool.
The one thing that's stopping me from crossing the street to Big B Boulevard is something called a price tag. Sure, I could drop the hundreds--ahem, thousands--it costs to take them home. But, sensibility parachutes in every time and drags me away. Why don't I fight back?
Honestly? She's a little scary, that Sensibility. A presence that can't be ignored. And she's freakishly strong. Seriously. I think she's supernatural. Or either she bench presses SUV's.
She saves me from self-inflicted wounds like stupid and crazy. Good stuff. If I get the urge to drink caterpillar blood. But, not when it comes to the Big B's! I don't think she understands the magnitude of diversifying my shoe portfolio. How could she? The closest she's come to dolling up is camoflauge paint.
But, I'm a shoe broker...it's my job!
You know what? It's my money and my feet. I should be able to put anything I want on them. I don't need permission. Especially from someone who has never worn anything other than a combat boot! The next time she blocks me from buying a Jimmy Choo I'm going to stretch myself up to 5'3" and let her have it! I'm going to tell her she's not the CEO of my life, I am. And that means I'm the one running things. Not her!
And after I peel my face from her fist...I'm going to ask her if she'd consider letting me get them on sale.