Confessions of a Shoe-aholic

Question: How many pairs of shoes does an American girl have to own before she can be justly accused of channeling the spirit of Imelda Marcos?

I found myself asking that question this week after donning a new pair of lilac-lace tennis shoes (which perfectly match a lilac tee I adore!) and realizing it was just one of -- Oh my word! -- four pairs I'd picked up over the weekend. Somehow, a pair of deep red, patent pleather dress flats, along with some white-lace, cross-band Skechers and pastel green dress sandals also made it home with me. It would have been just three, honestly, but for $4.99, I'm not passing up sandals that will match my pastel green, beaded-neckline top. I'm sorry, did I say match? I meant perfectly match. (Yes, life in the ReD Zone is all about color coordination, as this photo of my signature red shoes should prove.)

Now, the white ones were for working all those Sonnenberg weddings: dressy enough to pair with a skirt, hardy enough to preserve my ankles on the uneven terrain. And they were on sale. So rationalizing the purchase was easy, and I had similar rationales for the other pairs I bought that have now joined those already in my closet. However, when it comes to cute shoes, I almost have no recourse but to plead momentary insanity. I love the expression a friend's mom uses for this female shopping malaise, which, in her case, struck with a vengeance at the Carter's Baby Store in the Outlet Mall: "I blacked out, and when I came to in the checkout line, there were six outfits in the shopping cart!" Exactly. How else did I end up with butterfly-bejeweled flip flops in three different colors? Well, the rationale on that purchase also included the fact that women's footwear in size 5 is hard to come by just to start with, so when I find a particular style that comfortable, adorable AND affordable, not to mention VARIETY within that style, history has taught me that I best snap it up or risk never finding something so cute again.

And while we're on the subject of cute, my pearl-encrusted Steve Madden espadrilles with the sheer sandstone heel ribbons did garner compliments from the folks behind me in line at the Riverdance show at the Auditorium Theatre last year!

But somewhere between the four pairs from this weekend, and the 18 pairs -- whoops, make that 22, counting the flip flops -- hanging on the back of my closet door, it hit me. There's a strong possibility I may have a thing for cute shoes. That's not to say I'm ripe for an intervention or anything, just that reality really started sinking in when I stumbled across another six pairs scattered in various corners of the living or dining room where I kicked them off when I came home from work.

I was about to brush it off as a perfectly normal, rational set of shoes for your average American girl. I even started counting them all to prove it. But then I realized I'd forgotten about the upper shelf inside the closet, behind the door where my shoe rack hangs, which is another, what -- eight or nine pairs? And that's not including the fuzzy pajama slippers, either. Or the ballet slippers. Or winter boots.

Confession: I'm a little scared to finish counting. I think that's because acknowledging the actual number on this blog might REALLY start y'all thinking "Imelda Marcos." Were a judge to inquire about evidence of a possible addiction, my response would be: Your honor, I respectfully decline to answer that question or provide a number on the grounds that I may incriminate myself.

But I take it I should consider it a definitive sign that I am the girl my newsroom colleagues said goodbye to with a gift certificate to a trendy little shoe store downtown. And I did redeem said certificate promptly, with a pair of silvery, embellished "slippers" that caught my eye, plus a pair of denim-patch kitten heels perfect for pairing with jeans. Oh, and did I mention the goodbye gift included a T-shirt screened with a glass slipper and this quote? "One good shoe can change your life." ~ Cinderella (Love it! Love it!)

Um, what's the "first step" here? Oh yeah, introduction and acknowledgement.

"My name is Rachel D. and I'm a shoe-aholic."

Steamed Up

Whilst the out-of-doors is presently far beyond "balmy" --"suffocating" instead, anyone?-- I thought I'd dedicate a posting to the proverbial summer heat wave, the one that leaves us listless, draped over a chair somewhere in a near-puddle of sweat, swearing we are baking, broiling and longing for the inside of an igloo.

Naturally, we can't have igloos in upstate New York, so we digress to Eskimo Pies or Custard & Candy cones or blessedly cool air-conditioned movie theaters, or malls, or -- in a pinch, the ole stick-your-head-in-the-freezer-for-five-minutes trick. (Drat those electric bills!)

While the thermostat rises, so does the blood in the youth and/or the young-at-heart who start dropping like flies, victims of what some affectionately refer to as "The Love Bug" (not to be confused with the first of the Disney movies featuring the world's most popular VW, Herbie.) Naturally, when your daily work includes wedding coordination, you see the symptoms up-close-and-personal. (In the past six or so weeks, for example, I've attended three weddings as a guest and supervised hosting of some aspect -- ceremony, reception, photo shoot -- of nearly 15 others.) And this year, whilst we are in a drought, there seems to be no shortage of starry gazes, giggles, secret smiles and dispositions sunnier than the weather. It's enough to put the lyrics to "Summer Nights" on permanent replay inside your head.

But they say tempers can rise with the heat too. I don't doubt it, because I get pretty cranky myself in this kind of weather without an ice cream fix to tide me over. (And yes, in this heat, I will occasionally "cheat" on my beloved Shark's Custard & Candy with soft-serve, or gelato, or cold stone confections.)

This summer, I also have a bone to pick with the powers that be, who irrationally planned an entire Independence Day party near the City Pier, then postponed the fireworks --central to the festivities -- all the way out to Labor Day weekend after we got our first (much-needed) rain storm that day. In years past, rain has only delayed the fireworks for a day or so, and I cannot fathom why the powers that be have chosen to wait sooooo long to bring them back. Frankly, the Fourth hardly felt like a "real, live" Fourth of July without fireworks.
What on earth were they thinking?

I'd really like to get into this debate and take them to task for denying us all a "proper" holiday. Unfortunately, right now, I can't seem to muster up the energy to really rail into anybody. The heat has sapped it right out of me. I can hardly bring myself to move. (Sigh.)

Oooo, wait a minute. I think I left some ice cream in the freezer ....