Today I wore my Christmas shoes to work. Not to be confused with the most annoyingly depressing Christmas song of all time, seriously fm100, enough already, let it die. Let it die and bury it with that sad dead mother and her new shoes.
But I digress, I fell in love with these shoes when I first spotted them online back in November. I knew I had to have them but the Macy's near my work didn't have them and I really wanted to see them before I bought them, so I waited. I waited to thanksgiving. Back in Utah, I went to Dillards, home of the best shoe department I know and I tried them on and my sweet mother bought them for me for Christmas. So I pined away for another month. But at last, Christmas came and my shoes and I were together at last.
So this morning, after taking an inordinate amount of time deciding what to wear, I pulled out my new shoe and man did they look smashing. And with mincing steps I hobbled to work. As I soon discovered, though they're not so much uncomfortable, for what ever reason, I can hardly walk in them. Blasted lovely shoes.
But isn't love all about making sacrifices?