Here's the thing, and I swear this is not justification.
Or maybe it is, but only a little.
I had a shoe emergency today.
It wasn't like my old dating days, where buying emergency shoes meant, "Oh, no! Need new shoes! These shoes aren't hot enough for a last-minute date!"
When really, I should've been all, "I deserve more than this last-minute date. Plus, you're crazy and I should run away!"
Oh, hindsight and therapy are the best cocktail.
But my current issue is Nick's sofa.
It's formal black leather with covered tacks and these carved wooden animal legs for feet - you know the kind I mean? And these legs, they're curved, like actual animal back legs, so they stick out farther than the sofa.
They're mean and stealthy.
Plus there's one in the middle, right where you maybe don't expect a sofa leg.
Which makes it eminently kickable with your little toeables. And it hurts like a motherfucker when you do so. In case you're wondering.
This is how I wound up with the stub of death. It didn't fall off, but I'm pretty sure I broke it. And then two days ago, I kicked the same damn leg with the same damn toe.
This time it didn't turn black, but it hurts like all hell when it's squozen into normal shoes. And when I walk. Or stand.
So I wore this pair of shoes that leaves my toes free, but I walked to work in them and they rubbed a sore spot onto the top of my foot.
(See me building my case?)
Which is why at lunch I had to put on my rubber flops and flippity flop over to Nine West and buy two pairs of these cute shoes - black and pale gold - totally on sale and totally comfortable.
The woman trying on shoes next to me said, "Oh! How cute! I wonder if they have my size."
I told her my plight. I said I've been under a shopping injunction.
"But this," she said, "this is a medical emergency."
I almost asked her if we could be friends. But I was afraid I might sound weird.