I got spoiled from June to February. While painting away my life on watercolor paper and ceilings, I somehow forgot that it’s normal to wear real shoes. I have a great pair of flip flops and some warm slipper-like boots. Who needs dainty, attractive shoes when you’re practically barefoot all the time?
But it is nice to click around in heels once in a while.
Now I find myself in real shoes five out of seven days, and it’s kind of a shock to the system. I don’t remember work shoes being restrictive. But they kind of are. How could I forget something like that?
Here’s one of my favorite pairs of cute shoes:
I think they’re worth some toe-smushing. I just hope my feet will conform to nice little work shoe triangles again. I think that’s how this works, right?
P.S. The bruise on my shin is from a ski trip. A ski trip during which I successfully navigated my very first black diamond slope. Without falling. Just thought I’d brag about that, since it’ll probably never happen again.
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I know those little black bows and pointed toes. I’ll bet I’m your only blog reader who sees these pictures and thinks of small town NC, railroad tracks and hot dogs. I’ll be there soon with Cousin Donna in tow–can’t wait.