This morning I’m digging into the dream shoe closet for something to wear. There’s a funky outdoor wedding on Saturday. Everyone’s supposed to wear green, for St. Patrick’s Day. Naturally, I need my neon pink spring heels. I don’t wear green. Ever. Not even on my feet. Don’t ask me why. Probably for the same reason I always have to look up heels when I write it, to make sure it shouldn’t be heals. I’m difficult. I zone out on important things, then obsess about nonsense as if the day depended on it. Colors make me feel certain ways when I wear them, so I obsess about them. And green makes me feel sick. So, naturally, this will be my green on Saturday…
They’re so cool and light and totally comfortable, despite the heel height (don’t hate me, high arches are my friend). It’s like wearing a party on my feet, each first time I slip them on in the spring. Like ice cream melting in the sun or lemonade going down smooth and bubbly. And, yes, like shamrocks on St. Patrick’s day.
If I hadn’t gotten rid of them last year in a dream closet feng shui frenzy, these would have been perfect.
They were all about great texture and soft-as-butter leather and a killer shape. I bought them for the shape. And the fact that they looked like a painting to me. And green I can handle on the walls, in limited amounts. On my feet, though… (more…)
