Bruce I have to disagree.
Now I love shoes. I admit. Shoe shop windows draw me like jewellers windows.
But my damned feet won't let me wear half the shoes I crave.
Still, I crave them.
When I was 21 I took someone else's boyfriend on a weekend away (I'd just dumped mine) and he laughed at me with my nose pressed against the window of Hobbes. "I can't help it!" I said, "I love looking at shoes!"
"You and every other woman I know" he said.
Cold bucket of water or what?
Not very gallant at least.
And that was the first time I realised that liking sparkly things, pink, wanting to touch lush fabrics, craving red shoes however unsuitable was simply part of being a woman. I was a tomboy. I have no idea even now what is this season or last season or last time I had a decent payday.
I love flats and flipflops to walk in. All the time, even in Winter if I can get away with it. I love anything that brings me up to Limey's height - I missed my target by a good few inches growing up. I love leopardskin, patent and kitten heels, boots and wedges.
My shoes go with everything I wear. My style is a cross between eclectic and bag lady. If I had the money it would be Helena Bonham-Carter.
So you see, it's not always taught. Some women are shoe-magpies is all.
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