I Don't Play Favorites

This is another analogy of mine about guys and relationships.  Sheesh, how many do I have of these?

It all started in the 4th grade.  When self-consciousness crept in on everyone.  Growing pains hit and I started losing my baby fat.  Suddenly, boys started treating me differently.  Whispers of crushes were everywhere or I'd catch a classmate staring at me for a second too long.  What happened to these guys?! Why couldn't we all just be friends?

And my girlfriends were in on it too.  If they caught me talking to a guy, they would tease me and say, "Oooooh, you have a crush on _______!"  I really hated that.  And since then, I vowed to treat all guys the same.  I sort of carry this philosophy of not playing favorites with everything, but especially my shoes.  As you can see, I have quite a number of them.

Can you pick a favorite among these?

When my mum shops, she either buys it and cherishes it so much that she saves it in her closet or becomes obsessed with it and only uses that for a period.  Neglecting all the other purses or what-have-yous she owns.

That drives me nuts.  "You have all these others!  Why does that one get all the love?  Just because it's new and it excites you?"  Nope.  Not me.  I like all my shoes.  So when the weather or occasion permits, I try to give the more neglected ones some exercise.  Even if they push me up to 6 feet or I have to tone down the rest of my outfit so the shoes can get the spotlight.

Of course, despite me wanting to be fair, some shoes are reserved for certain seasons.  Some hardly get to see the light of day because they are just impractical or I don't have a fancy enough occasion to re-wear them.  Sure, there are many shoes that I've had to toss.  A cute pair of maroon corduroy flats I bought at Payless, which my mom accidentally threw away.  A pair of spunky teal Peter-Panesque shoes I bought in the Fashion District.  A flirty pair of floral platform sandals which promptly broke the first time I wore them.  The list goes on and on.  The point is, I remember things.  And unless they die on me, I throwing something away simply because "I don't like them anymore" is not an option.    Maybe it's loyalty.  Maybe I just know what I like.

I'd like to say that I'm now a great judge at choosing shoes that are aesthetically pleasing as well as comfortable, but alas, I am not.  And it's quite disappointing.  I mean with heels, you kind of know in advance, "You're gorgeous, but I could get hurt."  If I sprain an ankle or something while wearing my T-strap stripper shoes (as I like to call them) that would be entirely my bad.  I knew what I was getting into.

But flats?  Flats are awful.  I should really stop buying them.  Just within the last year, I bought a number because I wanted shoes that would become trusty basics.  So I put down good cash for these and what did they do?  They turned out to be as uncomfortable, if not more so than some of my high heels.  There is a feeling of being tricked.  Like, "Why did I even bother with you?  You are a fraud and a major disappointment."  Yet, I won't ditch them.

Continuing with the shoe theme, the best pairs of shoes I own are ones that I stumbled upon by accident, such as during a major closeout sale at a hole-in-the-wall shop while I waited for my mom to finish her tests at the hospital or on a spontaneous Sunday afternoon at Ross.  Places I never would have sought out on my own.  A purchase that just pleasantly turned out better than I anticipated.  I imagine that falling in love will be a similar experience.  He'll carry me through the long day.  And sweep me off my feet when I'm not expecting anything.  Until then, I'm keeping my eyes peeled.

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