is a single mama in the city, super-savvy editor, writer, video host and shameless shoe whore.
Actively disproving that this is not a shoe blog
Friday, February 15, 2008 
Ahhhh, nothing like shoes to make the heart really flutter on the Day Of Love. Suuuuure, a man can bring you flowers and offer you a little bit of late-night romance (oh, for those sweet sweet interludes during Letterman commercials) but a great pair of boots or heels or totally impractical ankle-strap wedges that you are meant to be worn only slightly longer than said interludes last give a grrrl good lovin' like nothing (or no one) else.
Leaping in a little late to the rainboot game, I finally purchased a pair of wellies I've been lusting after for months. Following 418 passes with the shovel, I put my desire for sassy rainboots into the "deserve" category, right there next to the one where I justified a $40 wide silver belt as a "need." After I consulted the appropriate people to find out if they were worth the money and being told emphatically, "BUY. THEM. NOW," I did. And I am ecstatic that I did. Love them. Love. Them. Love them.
Of course, clomping around my house and Starbucks and random bars in the middle of the day (I kid) in these new faves just inspires to make more wise and near-fetishistic purchases. Up next? Playing on the metallic thang and my late-70s-rooted obsession with Dr. Scholls one-strap clogs -- remember these beauties that required a great deal of clomping themselves, came in many colors that also registered as "needs," and caused my mother a lot of irritation that I wasn't fully picking up my foot when I walked in order to make maximum clomping impact and was thus ruining the hardwoods in the house? -- are these masterfully updated foiled clogs in not-too-rocker-glam silver.
I agree with Cookie magazine that they are perfect everyday urban mommy wear, paired up with dark, good ass jeans (Cookie only mentions that the denim costs a bedillion dollars, but I like to think that the good ass part is implied as it is so critical to co-op pick-up and drop-off and the fifteenth grocery store trip and inevitable tantrum this week). Who will notice that soy butter stain when your shoes are shining like that?
Clogs give you the chance to really flex those dorky/adorable sock skills you have (also perfected in the late 70s) with just a bit of subtlety perfected this side of your 30s and the millennium, make steps toward that ideal of comfy and styley (read: looking fabu while easily hoisting and hauling the tantruming child), and allow you to clomp up your own hardwoods hassle-free. Perfect, mais non?
I'll be happy to toss the last few years' worth of urban sneakers for some Sassafrass-worthy clogs, at least once the slush disappears and I'm ready to pry the rain boots from my feet.
What's the object of your shoe lust for the spring? I'm all about copy catting, so do share the details, kittens!
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