Will men ever understand women and shoes?

It's late on a Saturday evening and the spouse is engrossed in watching John Wayne for the umpteenth time this month draw his gun on the bad guy. He can't eat spaghetti twice in the same week, but he can watch the same movie over and over and never blink an eye.
"Hey, honey" I say, after Wayne fired the first shot. "Want to run into Springfield with me for awhile?"
"To get something to eat?" he asks without taking his eye off the TV.
"No, I want to go look at shoes."
"SHOES?" It's eight o'clock, Lee, are you out of your mind? Why would you want to go look for shoes at this time of night?"
"I just need to go shoe shopping!" I answered a little hurt. Will this man EVER understand me?
"No. The answer is no!" he says as the bad guy falls to the dirt.
"Fine!" I say, I'll call Nancy.
"Good," he says."Bring me back something to eat."

Okay, I'm in trouble. I have a new compulsion, or maybe I should say an old one sneaked back on me. I'm obsessed with shoes, high heels, to be exact. Most men will never understand what shoes mean to a woman. There are tons of articles out there on why women love shoes and what it all means. It's not just some passing fad or faze. It's a real issue and one that even the shrinks have spent time on trying to decipher. Like the saying you are what you eat, most women think we are what is on our feet.

Back in my twenties I had a passion for shoes. Pointed toes, and the higher the heel the better. I walked, ran, and lived in heels. I didn't have a lot of money back then and credit cards were for rich people so most all of my shoes came from a thrift store outside of Seattle that sold used designer shoes and clothing. I don't think I ever paid more than two dollars for a pair of name brand heels, only what I saved by the pair, I made up for in volume. I must have had thirty pair of heels in my small closet that was practically empty of any clothes to mention, because of course, I couldn't afford any clothes. If I had a snazzy pair of shoes on, I didn't much care what else was on my body. Even then I had a sense of only caring about what I liked and felt good in and not what anyone else thought. Back then it was definitely faux pas (we called it plain tacky) to wear heels with no hose or with jeans, but the goofy looks I got never bothered me.

I can't remember now when and why I stopped with the heels. To be honest, it probably had something to do with gaining a bazillion pounds. After all, you can only ask so much of a five inch stiletto. What I learned this summer, however, was that wearing heels is kind of like falling off a horse and having the nerve to get back on. I just got tired of trying to up my wardrobe and not finding any flat shoes that made it look right.

I started off with a lower heel and I thought I would DIE, my feet killed me. Blisters, leg aches, etc., but I persevered. After a few weeks I got to the point where I could walk again without too much pain so I moved up to a three inch heel and the suffering began all over again. Worse than that, I couldn't walk without holding on to something to help balance myself. At work, people actually thought I was exhausted the way I leaned on the copier. Little did they know I was hanging on to keep from falling off my shoes.

One night, I had to run to the supermarket and asked my husband to go with me. I caught him in a good mood because he agreed to ride along (he hates going to the supermarket). Little did he know I had an alternative motive. I had just bought a pair of three and a half inch heels and hadn't had the guts to try to wear them yet, I thought I would take them for a test drive to the grocery store. As we started out the front door I said, "I have a new pair of shoes on, and they're a little high, let me hang on to you to get to the car." I can remember a time when that would have made him feel good, but instead he turned, looked me straight in the eye and said "Well, for crying-out-loud, Lee, why in the heck don't you just change shoes?"

It's late Saturday evening and I am back from shoe shopping, which went great. I found a bargain on a pair of green heels to match a green blouse I love. I came in pretty excited.

"Hi honey! Guess what? I bought a pair of Franco Sarto's!"

The spouse flips the remote control to a hunting program and without looking up says "Great, be sure you put mayonnaise on mine."