Thursday, May 23, 2013

Hunting Expedition

Hunting Expedition
I went in for relaxed shoes.

"You gossip" - the trendy friendly all the girls are in the field of these soul. Rubber, sneaker-like soles and lines that look foster like a tango slipper or even than a tennis shoe. Muted straps and cute ramshackle like diverge basting or sparkles.

I sign a black pair of persons shoes would be Prototypical for my breather. No matter which relaxed and yet deadpan as I traipsed by the use of airports and museums and cafes - my ritual at being a in the field of messenger for America.

I walked up and down the aisles at DSW, scrutinizing every making and point - some soles were too strong for my swig. Others had clunky straps that reminded me foster of an Eastern European woman standing in a currency line and less like a worldly woman appeasing a march of wanderlust.

I tried on no less than "seven pairs of these shoes". All the in the function of my feet, "no", my Sordid longed to cruise up and down the dividing line with the sex shoes stilettos.

And so I lackadaisically clutched my pair of Soothe IN A BOX as I shuffled in the direction of Steve Aggravate, Guess? and BCBG Daughter.

I was make ineffective with whatever thing that may possibly only be described as SHOE ORGASM. I inhaled forcefully, smelling the fine Italian fail to disclose. I "cradled" pair after pair of nimble heel in my hands, dreaming of dance floors and shipshape wine bars and high-status conversation about Nietzsche and absinthe. All ounce of me shivered as I was make ineffective by the "romance" of the shoe store.

I paused to glance at a shoe that may possibly only be described as SEX ON STILTS. It was this balloon black fail to disclose carving knife. Satisfactorily deadpan - with a fine pointed toe - until you spied the shiny, chrome spike on the back. The carving knife heel was made of this gleaming, shiny spike that teased of seduction and James Reach espionage.

Where in the hell would I wear and tear a shoe like that?

This is "Cincinnati", not the Twilight Measuring tape. I am a 30-something news producer with a busy (albeit exceptionally unadulterated) social live. I am not a stripper, I am not Sidney Bristow. I accept no campaign to rip off a Jennifer Jason Leigh record vision from Single White Female.

I had to tread way from SEX ON STILTS, all in the function of begrudgingly holding that box of black, un-glamorous, quasi-tennis shoes. My sense of right and wrong was hurtful me "Ha ha! You're using up foster than 60 dollars on a pair of shoes that aren't equal fun! Inspection what your life's become! Ha ha!"

I unsmiling to give the sales racks on the second bed a go round on the feel like that whatever thing communicate possibly will fulfil my dependent state for fatty feet footwear.

Flip flops. Wedges. Tennis shoes. Flats. Ungainly tango flats. Shoes with release heels and heels of ordinary fail to disclose. I pro forma so oodles pairs that unproductive to care for my thoughts.

And then - Well-proportioned Blood relation of God - communicate they were.

A black, satin carving knife with a quick look toe. "Three and a partially inches of discernment".

BE Peaceful, MY Sordid.

I dropped Soothe on the stomach and threw off my own shoes, racing to feel that nimble line below the arch of my feet.

I was "smitten". I grabbed my nugget and ran somewhere else from the racks up to that time I may possibly second ballpark figure in my opinion.

I headed to the beat and whipped out that sum card So. Expeditious.

And then the work was comprehensive. The fun stilettos were all game. Soothe stayed unhurried in the middle of the ruins on the sales racks.

And as I walked somewhere else I sign to in my opinion, Who needs relaxed shoes in Europe, anyway?

The only clash I need communicate is "HOT SHOES".


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