Shoe, Don't Tell (A Reboot)

I'm working this Black Friday, so here's a re-post of a fave from this past year. . .

Whenever you see a writer staring out the window, beware. They're plotting and planning and moving words around in their brain like it's part of a complex sudoku puzzle.

But the writer's brain isn't just working on books and blog posts. Even the everyday stuff gets this analytical treatment.

For example, I'm in the process of attempting to sell something on Craig's List for the first time. After going through the angst of figuring out how it works from the seller's side, my brain is focused on how best to write the descriptions.

I am selling shoes, which I adore, so it shouldn't be terribly hard to write a little enticing blurb about them. Seriously. I love shoes. And boots. And flip flops. I haven't really considered getting a legal name change to "Nine West"—but only because I don't want to go through that much paperwork.

I have a tendency to collect too many pairs, as if I'm adopting them from a shoe orphanage run by an evil headmistress, or racing them to a safe house in a hail of bullets after a daring nighttime rescue.

My shoe love is a little skewed right now, because I always want to wear my over-the-knee black suede boots. They are fun, and eye-catching, and they put a little extra sass in my walk when I wear them. I'm not sure I've loved a pair of footwear as much as I have these boots. I'm like the little kid with his first pair of cowboy boots who doesn't want to take them off when it's time for bed. (Note to self: where ARE my cowboy boots anyway? Haven't seen those for a while.)

These boots are my winter love. We all know my summer love is flip flops. I almost feel like one of those bigamists who has a family on both coasts. There's nothing wrong with loving both of my shoe families, is there? Sniff. It doesn't feel wrong.

Other people pick up pennies they see on the ground. I do the same with shoes in the store, although since I actually buy the shoes, it's more expensive to do what I do. If I could get the same thrill—and wear—out of picking up pennies, believe me I would switch in a New York minute.

But now it's time to sell these unused, yet still beloved, boxes of footwear. So I can make room for the new and irresistible items those devilish shoe manufacturers keep producing.

This is where the need for an evocative Craig's List ad comes in.

I want these ankle booties and pumps and scrunch boots to go to a good home, someplace where they are allowed to roam free, and skip, and dance. I need to persuade someone that liberating these shoes from the suffocating boxes stacked in my closet will provide this deserving footwear a second chance to fulfill their shoe-ish destiny.