Just For You….

So, earlier this week I bragged told you about the fabulous deal I got on some very fabulous shoes.  There were numerous requests for pictures, so that you, too could share in the orgy glory  of the bounty.  I cannot leave such requests unanswered.  I would be breaking the number one creed of blogging: the reader is always right. So, without further ado, here, my friends, are the Shoes:

First up, the Coach pair in all of their peep-toe heavenly goodness:


They make me want to paint my toes fire engine red. 

And, second, but certainly not second best, behold the Prada shoes of unbelieveable gorgeousness:


Both pairs have graced my footsies this week, and if I do say so myself, looked mah-velous. 

Can you tell that I love shoes?

Orange is the New Green

I get ‘itches’ from time to time.  ‘Itches’ can range anywhere from the desire to try again as quickly as possible with the medical establishment to get knocked up to the desire to renovate the kitchen. Another popular itch is for retail therapy.  The retail therapy itch started to build the other morning when I despondently viewed my closet and realized that I had just two pairs of pants that a) fit me and b) looked good with boots.  I’m sure you are shaking your head at this terrible dilemma and wondering how I could possibly continue to function. I tell you it was hard, but some nice wool skirts did help.  And, then some decent weather that allowed for non-sock shoes. 

tillweAs the week drew to a close, I realized that my situation was indeed dire and that I had not visited my favorite consignment store in quite some time.   By Saturday around 1:30pm, Mr. X and I had finished our general choring and running around, and I realized that the store was open until 4pm.  It was the perfect opportunity to scratch this itch, particularly since Mr. X had  headed to his cave to play that infernal game.  I snatched up my car keys and bade him farwell.  (Actually, I told him I was leaving him for the wonders of the consignment store.  He took it pretty well, all in all). 

Fifteen minutes later I was parked in front and could see the wonderful rows of clothes just begging for me to try them on, all organized like the rainbow – just like I do at home.  Almost as soon as I arrived, I was informed that items with orange tags were 50% off and that there were a lot of them. I tend not to instinctively pick the orange tag – or whatever color it is that month – item.  But, it was a nice piece of information to tuck away once I started making decisions.

I dived in with the jackets, detoured briefly to the dresses (Diane Von Furstenburg!) before making my way to the tops (meh) and a quick perusal of the handbags.  Then, it was back against the wall for a quick peek at the jewelry and then on to the jeans and pants.  I silently cursed the European numbering system for jeans and made a guestimate at what would fit.  I hit the black pants with a vengeance and then went through the button down shirts.  Took a gander at the belts (I didn’t know it was possible to make things so hideous) and then headed to the section that I save for last: the shoes.

The shoe section had been carpet-bombed in orange tags.  I inspected all of the size 8 shoes and found four candidates to audition for a place in my coveted shoe collection.  They would join the likes of Ferragamo, Calvin Klein, Ann Taylor, Nine West, and Bandolino, to name-drop a few.

I started trying on and trying on and trying on.  I won’t bore you with the details of the clothes because frankly, it became clear pretty quickly that my destiny that day was to buy shoes.  First, three of the four fit very well.  Of the three, two had the orange tags.  And do you know what shoes those were?  Oh, my.  I still cannot believe it myself:  PRADA and COACH shoes, people.  I got both for $90 or each for 45-freaking-dollars. 

I can’t decide what I’m more excited about – how gorgeous the shoes are or what an awesome deal I got.  Truly, that is a dilemma.

image: tillwe