i'm still not sure i've actually learned anything

I do not consider myself a slave to fashion. Yes, I dress much nicer if I plan on exiting my apartment and joining the general public than if I plan on lazing about my apartment, but as a general rule I will not wear something pretty if it is uncomfortable. I've always given myself more credit than that. Additionally, I have never been much of a "shoe person." I choose a pair of shoes I like, and wear them every day until they fall apart; then I purchase another pair of shoes as a necessity, but wear them resentfully and mourn the loss of my previous shoes. Then, naturally, I grow to love my new shoes and wear them every day until they fall apart and I require another pair of shoes. This cycle repeats and repeats. I'm not on the lookout for cute shoes; unless the ones on my feet are missing an essential component or I've worn the soles through to the ground, other shoes do not register on my radar.

Until one day. One day, I was shoe shopping with my mother. (Sigh. I hate shoe shopping. Especially when I've still got a perfectly functional pair on my feet.) I sat slumped in a chair, on stand-by for opinions and suggestions for her selections. I stared at racks and racks of shoes, eyes glazed over in unseeing apathy. Shoes, bah.

Then I saw them. They were cranberry red, and stood out from their neutral peers like a diamond ring in the toilet. I blinked and leaned forward ever-so-slightly. Something about them... they intrigued me. Dare I say, they called to me. "Loooooook," they said. "Loooooook. See how pretty."

I stood up and went to them, hesitant to pick them up. This was so unlike me, to be drawn in by a pair of shoes, so I was cautious. But the closer I looked, the more beautiful they became. A buckle! A luxurious velvet ribbon across the toe! A kitten heel!

Shoes: "Gaze upon us. Behold our majesty." 

Me: "But I already have a pair of shoes on my feet."

Shoes: "Such a rich, vibrant colour. So unique."

Me: "But you probably won't match anything I own."

Shoes: "Such a delicate, whimsical heel."

Me: "But I topple over in anything higher than a flat."

Shoes: "Did you notice the buckle?"

Me: "I'm sold."

And so I bought them. Without anything to wear them with, or any sort of mastery over anything slightly resembling a heel, I bought them. As per my modus operandi, I instantly wore them everywhere. First up: a jaunt at the airport with my parents, to meet family. I kept gazing down at my feet, smiling in adoration. Such lovely shoes I had. Maybe I was a shoe person, after all! Maybe all those women who had scads and scads of shoes in their closets had it right.

Then I started to feel a little bit of a something on the outer regions of my feet. "Uh, hey," said my baby toes. "Something's... not right."

"La la la," I said. "New shoes."

"I mean it," insisted baby toes. "Something is amiss."

"LA LA LA," I said. "NEW SHOES."

"AAAAAAARRRRRRRRRGGGGGGHHHHHHHHH!" cried baby toes.

"AAAAAAARRRRRRRRRGGGGGGHHHHHHHHH!" I responded, suddenly and instantly crippled with agonizing pain in both feet. I stopped in the middle of a walkway at the airport and yanked off my stupid shoes. The last two toes on both feet were bright red, and one was bleeding. "What is happening?"

"Oh right," new shoes chimed in. "Did we not mention? BLISTERS. BLISTERS BLISTERS BLISTERS BLISTERS."

I couldn't walk around the airport in bare feet, because I am not ignorant of plantar warts and other various bacteria and disease that rampages wherever there be people, so I hobbled around for two hours, pitifully falling behind my family. I just couldn't keep up! They were all wearing normal shoes!

When I got home, I angrily threw the shoes in my closet. I was furious with myself for being taken in by the colour and the buckle. I had my shoe cycle and I strayed away, and got what I deserved. I would never again buy a pair of shoes before the old one fell apart, and I would not be seduced again.

Except I didn't throw the shoes away. And as I type this, I have band-aids on my baby toes because today at work I wore a skirt with a bit of red in it, and if a person has red shoes in their closet and that same person is wearing a skirt with a bit of red, it's just foolish to wear plain old black shoes. And as much as it pains me to admit it, this is not the first time I have come home from work with band-aids courtesy of those stupid red shoes. I can't resist their siren song. I guess I'm not as wise, or as immune to fashion, as I thought.