Pair #9- Retail Therapy

I love these shoes; they are interesting. Sculptural, comfortable and practical. In a word; Prada. But I don't wear them or love them as much as I should. Perhaps because they remind me of a very rough moment.

Last year I had what I thought would be my dream job. It wasn't. I won't get in to the details. It's not worth it, and I have made peace with the experience.

Once, on a particularly bad day, the kind where you shrink from the phone when it rings, and despair every time you open your email, I told myself, "enough." A few days earlier, I had gotten a card in the mail, a card I anxiously await: The Jeffery shoe sale had started.

Usually I worked until eight or so, but on this occasion, promptly at six, I stood up, turned off my computer and told my officemates "If anyone asks, I'm gone." There are certain jobs where it's not easy to leave for the day, the pressure to see and be seen is so great. This was that kind of place. I checked the hallways for my boss, and with a deep breath, got on the elevator and left the building.

In moments I was on fourteenth street, feeling free, and a little naughty, like a kid playing hooky. I got to Jeffrey just before it closed. I walked around, eager to try, buy, fall in love, fall in like, anything. As I ignored the impatient sales force, I meandered around touching these, looking at those. I spotted this pair, held them for a moment, put them down, picked them up. I didn't love them at first, but they came with the lovely sale sticker on the sole, and after some deliberation, I asked to try them on. I thought they were too cerebral on the shelf, but on my foot they were sexy, strong, and the bow made them a little bit girlish, in the right way. I gave the sales person my card, and we were off, home together, and sadly, back in the real world. But for those few moments, the worries of the day were gone.