I have no sole

I have a shoe problem.  Not in the Imelda Marcos sense, (although I would sell my first-born for a pair of LV”s), but rather in the Murphy’s Law sense.  You see, we have a love/love relationship, my shoes and I.  I love them, and they love to break on me and ruin my day on a regular basis.  It usually happens at work, which is only mitigated by the fact that a friend happens to keep a box of shoes under her desk.  Come to think of it, I have no idea why she keeps an entire box of shoes under her desk.  Perhaps there’s some sort of underground shoe fashion show/fight club thing that I’m not aware of.  I shall have to investigate further.  In the meantime, instead of walking like I have an old war wound when my shoes break, I borrow a pair of hers and pray that I don’t look too fashionably uncoordinated.  I once broke a boot heel walking across the street to the train station after work and had the choice of either walking with a serious limp, or tip-toeing it with that one foot and pretending there was nothing wrong.  I tip-toed.  I’m vain like that.

The good, the bad, and the guilty.

It happened again this morning.  I was happily on my way until I realized I’d forgotten my phone at home.  I resigned myself to being late and turned around to go and get it.  (Truth be told, I didn’t really care about being late and mentally flipped my employer the bird).  Stepping out of the elevator, it felt like my left shoe was suffering from movie-floor syndrome.  Then walking across the living room I felt it again.  I examined my heel but found no signs of gum or sticky toffee pudding or post-it note residue.  After 3 more feet I came to realize that the problem lay with the shoe itself.  Like a praying mantis ripping the head off her mate, the insole of my shoe was detaching itself from the platform.  But it was ok; there was no need to panic.  I’m a handy girl.  With my trusty glue gun, (because my pink duct tape would have clashed), and a quick prayer to the shoe gods, I managed to make the necessary repairs and head back out the door.

Yeah, I made it as far as the train station downtown.  Luckily I had the presence of mind to stash another pair of shoes in my purse.  My broken shoe is now with the shoe repair man who made no guarantees that his glue would hold either.  I’ll pick them up tomorrow.  Along with some beige duct tape.