Once upon a time there was a girl; she was not exactly a princess, although she spoke and dressed like she was, and she wasn't exactly a pauper, though her banker thought she probably was. The girl had a problem; a very serious problem. She was addicted to shoes. She first met them on the pages of Vogue; sliding slightly off the tanned, dainty foot of the model in the Valentino dress; prancing down a runway, peeping from the bottom of a glamorous maxi dress, defining a foot at the end of a glittery pair of trousers... she saw them everywhere, her heart ached and her bank account scorned her. Shoes became her broken heart, a neglectful boyfriend, an estranged husband.
It wasn't like she didn't have enough shoes, her small bedroom was brimming with them; what she lacked in outfits she made up for in fabulous footwear, but none of it was quite satisfying enough... There was something missing, her feet craved more. The high street labels made her angry, she despised the fraying seams and the 'pleather'... her most expensive shoes were originally incredible but after a week seemed dull and somehow flawed, she needed perfection, she wanted more, and she knew what it would have to be... in her sleep (and while she was awake) she dreamed of the shimmering red soles of Louboutin, the heart-aching shapes of Kirkwood and the classic beauty of Yves Saint Laurent. She would not be satisfied until she had these things, and she knew she could never rest without them. There must be something she could do...
Does anybody else feel like this?!