Shoes. Some people come with baggage. I come with shoes. And I like them displayed and out in the open where I can see them all. What's the point in having them if you keep them hidden away in your closet? Right now they are all over our book shelves in the upstairs hall way, in a basket by the door, in another basket on the stairs, lining the stairs, in a hanging shoe case in the closet, in another hang shoe case nailed to the back of my closet wall, and kicked off in various locations through out our house. Not to mention that my summer shoes are at home at my parent’s house. I imagine that the lucky man that I eventually may marry one day may not enjoy having little, sometimes ridiculous looking, shoes scattered all over the place. Oh well, I view them as an adorable extension of my personality and their presence is nonnegotiable. The basket by the door and by the stairs are my attempt to consolidate them together in a limited number of locations. They are hazard because even I trip over them. But I love them. When I get a new pair I just cannot wait to wear them. Sometimes I cook in new shoes if I get impatient waiting for the right occasion. Sometimes I dance in my living room with them on. Just breaking them in, you know?
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