Ok, that title was a little misleading. I mean, it's the truth, but it leads you to an image of Marion Cotillard in sky-high platform pumps trotting along some Paris side street, cigarette in hand, pint-sized poodle trailing behind. Is that just me? Ok, maybe it is.
The point is, schmoo, that I wore your Louboutins to work today. I was prepared to address comments from coworkers ("Oh, these old things? They're vintage Louboutins. Aren't they fabulous? They're my sister's.). I must have angered the shoe god, though, because not only did no one compliment them, but I had to WALK to GEORGETOWN in them. It is 100 degrees here today and close to 100% humidity.
Yes, the shoe god is angry with me for my smugness about the shoes. It is right to love them, to admire them, to wear them with pride, but hubris comes with a price. That price is blisters and discomfort.
The point is, schmoo, that I wore your Louboutins to work today. I was prepared to address comments from coworkers ("Oh, these old things? They're vintage Louboutins. Aren't they fabulous? They're my sister's.). I must have angered the shoe god, though, because not only did no one compliment them, but I had to WALK to GEORGETOWN in them. It is 100 degrees here today and close to 100% humidity.
Yes, the shoe god is angry with me for my smugness about the shoes. It is right to love them, to admire them, to wear them with pride, but hubris comes with a price. That price is blisters and discomfort.
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