Some people crave candy. Others long for champagne. My weakness is shoes. High-heels or flats, it makes no difference. Because in truth, I am a shoe-aholic.
Mind over matter isn’t as easy as it sounds, especially in the midst of the fall collections. Last month, after enjoying a ladies’ luncheon at my favorite department store, I tried my best to exit the building without stopping to shop.
Focusing on the shortest path to the door, I serpentined through display tables filled with glorious shoes.
Walk quickly and breathe, I willed myself. Eyes forward. Relax, you’ve got this.
In spite of the pep talk, my heart pounded and tension crept into my shoulders.
My intentions were good, but I was bombarded with distractions; sling backs, platforms, pumps, all beckoned, begging to be held.
Like orphaned pups at the pound, they needed a home. They needed love. They needed my credit card which was maxed out on landscaping.
Why did I ever agree to boxwood, sod and pachysandra when I could have had…shoes? Beautiful, sexy, gorgeous shoes.
Where’s your backbone, girl? Look straight ahead. Pretend it’s the men’s department.
But then, they appeared: black and white striped Gucci loafers, teasing me as I walked by. So whimsical and unique, a zebra never had it that good.
Oh, just look at those Valentino studded booties. I could start my own motorcycle gang. No, no, no, just keep walking, warned that inner voice. Leave now before it’s too late.
But wait; the sparkling Louboutins. Their red soles were calling out to my soul: Mimi- we want you. You want us. Let’s get out of here.
What was a girl to do? There I was, trying to keep my blinders secure in America’s Mecca, a.k.a. the shoe department of Neiman Marcus. Priorities, my dear, priorities, I reminded myself. And at that moment, they were nowhere to be found.
How could I justify such extravagant purchases? I could not. Steeling myself with courage, I trudged to the parking lot and drove home.
Spoiled Mimi was pouting, but practical Mimi knew she did the right thing. Pulling into the driveway, sprinklers greeted me with a gentle splash and a newly planted maple tree swayed hello. Ah, home sweet home.
Stepping out of the car, I mentally high fived myself. It felt good knowing I did the right thing by not giving in to a whim. As I gazed across the budding yard, I experienced a sense of peace mixed with pride and satisfaction.
A few days later, while watering my lawn, those lingering happy thoughts were interrupted by the postman delivering mail. As he handed me the usual stack of bills and catalogs, I froze. Resting on top of the pile was an invitation to, what else, Neiman Marcus’ Friends and Family Sale.
Pushing past the postman, I threw down the hose and ran toward my car.
I sped toward Tysons Corner Mall, rolled down my window and shouted, ‘Set loose the hounds. Mimi’s on her way.’