I Had A Dream

Which was very rudely interrupted by my sister-in-law a couple of days ago. Before she could even get a word out, I chewed her ass for waking me up from, quite possibly, the best dream I'd had in months. You guessed it, ladies: I was dreaming about shoes.

And not just any shoes. Sexy, bend-me-over stilettos that I have never seen before, much less had the pleasure of wearing. Especially with my duck feet and chunky ankles, not to mention sans polish toes. I don't remember the details of the dream (other than that my ex and my grandma's cat were in it), but I do know that I was positively feeling the vapors when I glanced down and saw a pair of heels eerily similar to these on my feet:

How ironic is it that, not only did I find a pair of shoes that looked like the ones in my dream (it's not like they were standard black slingbacks), but that I managed to do so on the first page of my first search? Tell me the powers that be didn't have something to do with that, I dare you. I'm so convinced these babies were made for me that I'd buy 'em…if I had $895.00 to blow.

So, big deal, right? What the hell does the dream or these shoes have to do with "loofahing" my life?

Back in the day (you know, before I went all pear-shaped—thank you, Melanie Carmichael—and developed cankles), I LOVED shoes. I had tons of them. I wouldn't say I had an addiction or anything, but I treated myself on a regular basis. In fact, I still love shoes, but they're no longer a priority, along with a lot of other things that I used to love, and that totally burns my ass. One of the first things I'm going to do when I get that "real" job is buy myself a pair of the sluttiest heels I can find (and afford). Then I'm going to cross my fingers that I don't break my neck trying to walk in them.

How about you? Have you given up such delicacies somewhere along the way? Or do you just have a shoe dependency?