The Boy is addicted to shoe-shopping, it’s scary. In a few years, he will likely be buying shoes he won’t ever wear, much like a teacher he used to have. In a few years, our shoe racks will likely rival our bookshelves.
The only way to deal with the situation is to buy shoes myself.
Okay, I don’t know how that helps. All I know is that it eases the jealousy I feel when I see The Boy parading around the apartment in his new shoes. So yeah, in a way, it helps.
Unlike him, however, I don’t buy ridiculously expensive pairs. After all, I am bored and thrifty; cheap yet chic is my game.
My latest acquisition is this pair of brown ankle boots. I am wearing them here with a dress (thrifted, too) that I will be wearing at a wedding next weekend. I could wear the boots, too, but 3-inch heels + 4-hour event in which I will be taking photos = poor feet.
If I wear the boots, I will look like this after a few hours:
At the end of the day, this would be me:
I really don’t want that to happen because I might be labeled as “girl so inappropriate that she must not be invited to weddings or any formal event. EVER.”
So I’ll wear flat gladiator sandals with the dress. The boots and I will have our adventures another time.