Step One

Hello. My name is Cara and I'm an addict. I don't have a problem with drugs or alcohol, although I do enjoy a glass of wine from time to time. My problem is shoes. I love them. No, more than that, I LOOOVE THEM. High heels, flats, sandals, boots, brown ones, black ones, Jimmy, Christian, Steve. They all have a special place in my heart.

It is not an exaggeration to say that I have a hundred pairs of shoes. It's the truth. The sad fact is that of those, I only wear a half dozen or so with any regularity. The rest sit in my closet or on one of the shoe racks that don't fit in my wee closet, wearing tiny little sad faces, begging me to put them on. Periodically, I go through them and make the painful but necessary decision to clear them out. Because the plumber needed to get into my closet to access the pipes for the tub*, today was an opportune time to do a little thinning of the shoe herd. The purge consists of three types of shoes:

1. The Fashion Victim. Those shoes that were so darling and hip that I just couldn't resist them in the store, yet when I got them home discovered that wearing them was so painful that I never actually make it out of the house in them. They are all in pristine condition.















(I love these shoes, but they are so unbelievably tall that I can't actually walk in them. A friend of mine fell and broke her ankle while trying to walk in a pair just like them. True story.)

2. The Impulse Buy. Quirky shoes that were purchased either because they were on sale or for a particular outfit and now they just don't work with anything I currently wear. Typically in close to pristine condition. Slight wear and tear.















(These went with a formal gown I bought a few years back. They are a gorgeous deep red color and aren't terribly uncomfortable but I just don't know what to wear them with. They seem a little much for jeans.)

3. Tired Old Soles. Shoes that I have legitimately worn out. This is a small number, but it does happen. These are in embarrassing condition. For a middle class American chick. My standards of worn out are probably not the same as a kid in the slums of India.















(These old dogs saw me through many a day. I'm sad to see them go, but go they must. I should probably just throw them away, but I just. can't. do. it.)

All of these shoes, and quite a few of their friends, will get bagged up and trundled down to the neighborhood Good Will store in hopes that some financially challenged shoe fashionista will take them home and love them. While there are some that might think I only do this to make room for new additions, I prefer to think of myself as a philanthropist. That's right, folks, I'm a giver.

Do you suppose it is too early to apply for sainthood?

*Sophie threw a string of mardi gras beads into the tub as it emptied. Before I could snatch them, they had zipped down the drain, where they caused mayhem on our 60 year old pipes. $325 later, the tub drains and we have a sparkly new drain cover to prevent such accidents from happening again.