Nobody who knows me well is surprized to know I collect shoes and boots. But most are in my size. I might grab a pair of cute vintage shoes for someone I know who wears that approximate size, but the only exceptions are a pair of black open-toe velvet stillettos from the 40s, worn with full-fashioned stockings by my mannequin legs, and this odd pair I normally wouldn't have kept. They were fake leather, chunky heeled--at the time, a minus--and were thrown away for no apparent reason. They had no wear, no stains, no flaws other than the few I mentioned. And they weren't really my style. But something compelled me to hold onto them. Considering I was couch-surfing at the time, desperately trying to find an apartment, shoes I couldn't wear and didn't care for much should've been awfully low on my list of things to hold onto. Yet I did.
Last week, Cynthia and I were sorting through the chaotic mess of my room, when she stumbled upon these shoes, and asked about them. I muttered something to the effect of the story above and kept on delving.
She then tried them on. And they fit, perfectly.
And, on her, they are HOT.
Do I really need any more hints that she is The One?!? Not that I am complaining...!