There is a group of women, like my friend Sarah, who can walk for miles in in four inch heels without a whimper of complaint.

And then there’s me. A person who can’t resist a gorgeous pair of shoes but craves comfort above all else.

Does beauty trump comfort? How do I go from, “I am looking for a pretty, comfortable pair of shoes” to a closet filled with beautiful shoes I never wear because they torture my feet?

Here’s how:

I’m in the store. There they are. A pair of shoes I.must.have.

I gingerly put them on my feet. I admire their beauty.

I walk around the store thinking this is *the perfect pair of shoes*.

I convince myself they ARE comfortable despite any warning signs to the contrary. Anyway, how can you really know if a shoe fits from walking around a small store?

I purchase them, mentally picturing which outfits they will match.

Sometimes I discover I need a new outfit just for the pair of shoes. Oh! A shopping spree. My new shoes totally deserve the perfect outfit.

I plan an evening with Josh. I debut the shoes. I look fabulous. I feel fabulous.

Then we walk. Often not far. And I realize: these shoes HURT.

Sigh…I know from that moment on those shoes will be relegated to times when there is little-to-no walking.

Then I suffer the aftermath.

Blisters.

Deep wounds.

Mental scarring.

OUCH!

The shoes are sent to the shelf to be admired and only worn sparingly. Like this pair:

Sure they are stunning but those leather straps dig ditches into my legs. I wore them recently and a woman passing by exclaimed “I LOVE THOSE SHOES”. I wanted to reply “Me too! Too bad my legs are about to bleed”.

I particularly love this pair:

In fact, I love these so much I purchased an adorable skirt from Anthropologie to match them.

And this pair?

I got into a physical fight with my best friend over these. At the time a bitch slap seemed warranted but looking back I might have gone a bit far. (To be fair the bitch slap was a result of my friend insulting the size of my feet).

I want to be the type of woman that can wear any shoes and simply walk without the fear of wounds. But I’m not. Instead I wear a pair of purple Birkenstocks (summer) or Dansko clogs (winter) while I collect more and more lovely shoes that sit contently in my shoe rack waiting for their moment.

When will I find that perfect pair of shoes? The equivalent of Cinderella’s glass slipper? Are they out there just waiting for me?