The Mommie dearest in me.

Today I just feel like throwing out all my shoes. It's not that I hate them, it's just that lately I've been feeling like I don't have the perfect shoes for the outfits I'm putting together. So I settle. Which I kinda hate and that makes me want to throw them all out and start over, even though I know that is stupid on so many levels. I imagine this is how people sometimes feel about their kids. What?

I have threatened to take them to the "bad shoe home" if they don't shape up. I vividly remember the "bad girl home" threat being particularly effective. Especially the time we did a drive by. Perhaps I should take a swing by the goodwill with all my shoes, or better yet, one of those drop boxes where things fall out and are scattered all over the parking lot in desolate disarray. That should put the fear of DSW in them.

On the other hand, maybe I will go and buy one pair of shoes that I will favor in order to create some healthy competition for my attention. I feel obliged to say that my parents did not do this. However, it is something I would do as a parent hence, my knowing better than to have children.

I do have my tax appointment next week and for anyone keeping track that means I will have accomplished one of my resolutions. However, the more important resolution of actually learning about finances has not happened so I fear a repeat of last year's tax/shoe debacle. Why would I buy a pair of shoes that I love above all my other shoes only to have the heartbreak and humiliation of returning them when I find out I owe thousands of dollars to the IRS? It flies too close to masochism in my book. I can't stand the thought of having to crawl back to my old shoes and beg their forgiveness in a dramatic Shakespearianesque downfall through hubris situation.

I guess I better find a way to suck it up and fall in love with my old shoes again.
This sucks.

Is it just me or are you crazy?

So, I was sharing the size 7 clearance aisle at DSW with a woman and her, no more than 9 month old, son. Oh, and their giant stroller. You know what. Mom's need to shop. I get it. However, I didn't appreciate having to hear their really loud, I mean LOUD, one sided (for obvious reasons) conversation. It was non stop talking in that fake, high pitched, sing songy tone. All the while being completely in my way.

"I know. Those are cute aren't they? You're cute too. Yes, you are. Oh look at these." "You ruined mommy's figure and her feet. Didn't you? Didn't you? Oh well, you're worth it." "Oh, what's wrong. You can't let mommy shop. I know. I know. What? What? These look nice."

What the fuck? Is she kidding me with this? It is as if she were having the conversation for my benefit. Well here's a tip: DON'T. If you want to talk to me, talk to me. If not, why don't you try using your 'inside voice'.

"What? What? These aren't for mommy now. Back in the day maybe." "what do you think of these. Huh? You like them? Do you? Come on what? Sparkly huh?" "I know. I know what you want. Hold on. Ok, but just wait. Here you go"

At this point she sits on the floor in the aisle and starts breast feeding. And the chit chat continued. Great. I'm out. I can't shop for shoes now. This is ridiculous. The stroller in the way, them in the way, and the constant fucking inane chatter!

"YOU ARE RUINING THE CLEARACE AISLE FOR ME!"

I didn't scream out loud. Only in my head.

Seriously, I'm going to go out on a limb here and say the minimum age of someone to solicit fashion advice from is 5 years old.

I'm gonna hold firm on that.