Let's talk about shoes.
I love those words. But not today. I spent the weekend searching Spokane, Washington for my summer sandals. Which are nowhere to be found. Seemingly. Seemingly, because last summer when I was stupidly, duh, not looking for sandals, this style was all ovah thuh place and now it's only: gladiators. Contrary to popular taste at the moment, I hate gladiator sandals. I hate the way they look and I especially hate the way they look on me. So, what's the deal, yo?
Here are the cousins, if you will, of my perfect sandals:
Here in a size 7, boo.
Here in a size 5.5, extra boo.
Wanna hear another sandal sob story? Yeah you do.
All of this winter I came across so many of these babies (pictured below) that I thought, sensibly, nah, I will wait until I come close to needing them. And you really think I can find any now? Also, I can say with total certainty that my mum had a pair of these not too long ago that have since disappeared or been trashed. Is it weird if I cry just a little bit?
Here in size 7, again.
Here in size 7.5 (maaaaaybe).
Shoes, really, where's the love?