Chocolate Chicks

I want to write a blog post about these shoes, but that's an odd place to start. I suppose I shall try the beginning, because rumor has it that is a very good place to start...

I had a party last night. Every few months, I invite basically every woman I know to come to my house with their favorite chocolate dessert. We all sit around noshing our hearts out and gossiping about the state of the world, and everybody generally has a very good time.

Shoes have never entered into the picture before, unless it was people removing them on the way in.

Actually, I lie. Last time I had a party, two women were wearing smashing red flats with their jeans, and they were adorable. I bemoaned the lack of flat red shoes in my wardrobe, and rejoiced to find some on clearance shortly afterward.

I love my red flats.

I was barefoot last night, and so were many of my friends. I was wearing some jeans that reached me through the hand-me-down grapevine (thanks Susanne and Mary!). They're trouser pants with a good creased down the front, and pocket slits on the front. They're long on me-long enough that I generally wear high heels with them to dress them up, but last night I decided to let them just be annoyingly long.

So....at some point during this party...you know, the one I'm writing this post about?

Anyway, at one point I had to go upstairs for something, and I noticed that somebody had deposited a pair of smashing open-toed pumps at the base of my stairs. Now, there are several other shoes-fans that I befriend, and I have become accustomed to not being able to wear their shoes. I admire them, I covet them, I appreciate them-but I can't borrow them. I have a 7 1/2, they usually wear somewhere in the neighborhood of a 9. As such, my first question when I saw the lovelies on my basement floor was:

"What size are these?"

Be still my heart-they were a size 8. And they were gorgeous-practically BEGGING me to try them on...so I did. I wore them up and down the stairs a few times, and I comfortably waltzed around the basement while teetering on them. They are a bit large, but nothing I can't manage. I've certainly suffered more for a cute pair of shoes-these were comfy in comparison to some others I've worn!

Now, here comes the fun part: a little while later, the woman who came to my house in possession of these beauties said the unthinkable:

"I'm really not a shoes person."

Be still my heart.

"They make you so much happier than they make me."

I can't breathe.

"Somebody gave them to me anyway."

Catch me, I'm falling.

"If you have a pair of flip flops I can wear home, you can have them."

I passed out, and couldn't be revived for several minutes.

I (kind of) tried to give them back. I (sort of) attempted to talk her out of it. But she (kindly, generously, foolishly (?)) persisted.

The shoes are living at my house now, and I couldn't be a happier woman.