Missing Jeffrey

I get a lot of emails about shoes. Emails from my sisters, friends, from stores, from people posting stuff on Facebook, my mom...you name it, someone is sending me pictures of shoes. (Like I can wear a picture).

Today my younger sister, Figgy, sent me an email. "I've found the perfect bootie (for me anyway). Google Jeffrey Campbell's Lita shoe. Obviously in Black."

I wanted to throw one of my size 7 dagger heels at her.



They're all so beautiful...



For the past week we have trying to make plans to meet up to go to Akira. My sole purpose of going was for these shoes. That's it. They're my obsession recently. It's unhealthy. I've Googled them every day and looked at every color and texture, prioritizing which ones I need vs. which ones I want. Weighing the practicality of each color and scanning my wardrobe to see what they would match.

A friend in New York was posting photos of them to Cat in Heels on Facebook, taunting me with multicolored glitter. The perfect boot version of my wedding shoe.

So we penciled in Thursday, then she canceled to go watch sports and drink beer or some such horseshit. Sports trumped shopping? I call bullshit. She doesn't even know what sports are played right now. I know I don't. 

I love pet-able shoes.

So instead of creeping out the sales people at Akira by cuddling with their shoes and taking pictures of my feet to decide which looks best, I stayed home (because the weather sucked), and I pouted, and probably drank (what else is new?), and I sure as hell didn't watch sports.

Then today she has the audacity to tell me about my perfect boots (also her perfect boots) that her sudden interest in sports and Chicago's ridiculously in climate weather are preventing me from getting.

This week I'll just get drunk enough to not care that I have wet-rat hair from all the rain and traipse through this swamp that used to be the city to get those boots on my own. Then I can sit home and admire them. It'll sure beat the hell out of watching sports.