Undeniably. All of us who have been lucky enough to experience and savour the agony of love can attest to it: love hurts.

My affection in this case, other than being the greatest infatuation there is, is not actually a matter of the heart. It’s a matter of feet. I’m talking about my love for shoes, and strangely enough just like the ‘regular’ kind of love, it makes me bleed every time… literally! I still remember the most memorable shoes that have taken a spot in my closet from an early age. My dad was keen on supplying some of the greatest pairs. I distinctively recall a pair of sea green coloured flats with a huge silver buckle he brought me once from a trip to Brazil. Don’t know if they are the reason that hue is particularly special to me, but they certainly were. Another fun pair, also provided by my fashion-forward dad, were these crazy Reebok high-top trainers, which were half lilac, half mint, and featured drawings of little dogs. To top it all, there were tiny plastic bones hanging from their laces. A true wonder! Even today I ask myself what was I thinking not to keep those even if they didn’t fit anymore! Anyway, memory lane is closed and what we have now is where that road my parents inadvertently nudged me into, has taken me… the insane relationship that is me, and my footwear.

Just a few days back, someone posted an article on Facebook about how high heels can damage your feet. I read it,¬†uninterestedly to be honest, and of course made no impact on me whatsoever because I knew that whatever it said my love would remain intact, if not stronger. It’s exactly like when your parents tell you not to date this one guy because he might be trouble, it triggers something within you and you just have to do it. My very wise father (and you’ll see why I say this) told me once that there was one thing you could not be cheap about, and that is shoes. Feet are the pillars of your body and should always be comfortable. (You have no idea what you did dad, I haven’t been tight-fisted at all)! But no matter how greatly qualified my purchases are, they still manage to make me see the stars and not in the right way. I even had to get rid of my Manolo’s, it was just unbearable to stand in them even if it was only for a minute or two. Conclusion, it’s not them it’s me. (Bet you haven’t heard that before)! My highly pronounced arches, crappy toes and my capability to bloat like a blowfish with the mildest change in temperature make even trainers my worst enemy, and what sprouted this ranting was actually my latest defeat. My recent pair of ugly shoes, comfy as they may seem to the naked eye, have left me with a series of blisters it makes me wonder if I should just give it up and go barefoot! Wait, I just laughed at myself! Truth is, NO WAY IN HELL. And as they usually say… this too shall pass.

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