I like clothes. I look for beautiful colors and soft fabrics. Once I went in to a vintage store right after I got paid and bought, at a very good price, every single cashmere sweater in the place. I just bought two pair of shoes, frantically purchased at Famous Footwear because the outfit I was going to wear wasn’t going to work out and the solid grey I put together desperately needed silver shoes. I found them, and a pair of gray boots, too. But one, get one half price.
It’s not just that I love clothes. I love my daughter, my husband and having good hair. I love Jesus and the Holy Spirit and God. Chocolate and Italian sodas make higher on my list than clothes. I easily love them more that shoes, however: Shoes do something to me. I rarely need a pair of shoes, such as running shoes, go in to a store and buy them on sale. That is what people do that do not have psychiatric issues. I buy shoes when I need them powerfully. It happens during a severely depressive day or bad week. I think like this, “I can kill myself, or I can buy some new shoes.” So far, I have always chosen the shoes. I’ve come home with eight pair. I took them home and tried them all on and took some (not all) back. I reasoned that I should try them on in a place I felt comfortable. I will not be taking my boots and flats back. They are cute and I like them. They are also silver. I will give my husband the birthday and Christmas money I get and that will make us “even”.
Ah, glorious shoes. I will go upstairs, now, and clean out my closet.