I truly enjoy collecting two things: shoes and men. Both of these possessions bring joy into my heart, pain into my body and emptiness into my bank account. Everyone in my life calls me obsessive, but it has become more like a passionate hobby. My best friend observed that boys and shoes are quite similar. As I began to look over my collections of both, I realized just how alike they are despite their obvious physical differences.

First, I have a tendency to recycle two of my favorite examples repeatedly. There is one pair of shoes in my closet that I absolutely love at times and cannot stand to be around at other times. When I do decide to wear my amazing red polka dot wedges, I flaunt them to everyone I see. I am proud to be with that pair of shoes and no one can take that feeling away from me. However, after I wear them a few times, I get tired of those wedges and put them away from my sight for a moment. Likewise, I have a man in my life who tends to be on a rotation, just like my shoes. I bring him around when I have no other person to run to, and then I throw him back into the proverbial “closet” when I become bored with him. However, the time I spend with this man is precious and unforgettable. I just cannot seem to find a way to have a constant admiration for either the boy or those beloved shoes. They are on a vicious cycle of love and hate.

Next, nothing in my world can compare to Italians in either the shoe or male category. If there were only one pair of heels in the world that I could own, it would be a pair of expensive, black Italian stilettos. I would wear my heels with pride everywhere I went and brag to everyone about how incomparable these particular shoes were. I would never let my friends borrow those gorgeous heels because they would fit only me. They would match all of my dresses, never hurt my feet, and simply look amazing. Likewise, my ideal man is a tall, Italian man who would look great with me. He would be considerate of my feelings and I would never grow tired of him. He would be mine and only mine. Both of these desired possessions seem to be eluding me.

Finally, men and shoes both bring on mixed emotions. I wore a pair of stiletto heels to a concert last week. They looked great and I received several compliments. Several hours later, my feet were killing me and I had to lose the shoes. They were causing entirely too much pain for me to bear, even though I loved them. I was miserable while standing barefoot in puddles of beer and liquor, but it was necessary. Similarly, I once dated a male who I cared for a great deal. He was caring, considerate and amazing for the first few months and my friends adored him. Soon, he began to hurt my feelings and I became completely distressed. I had to let him go, despite my deep affection towards him. I was left standing alone in figurative puddles of tears and heartache. Sometimes, letting something so rare slip out of your hands is the right thing to do, even if it hurts. No girl should endure uncomfortable shoes or uncaring boys.

I adore my compilation of boys and shoes. It has taken many years for me to accumulate an assortment of both that I can be proud to call mine. The thought of losing either set is somewhat agonizing. However, one day I will be willing to lose my collection of boys for a man who loves me, despite my love affair with shoes. I will forget about the dirty flip-flops, the broken heels and the outdated flats in order to show “sole” devotion to my perfect Italian. For now, it looks as if I will just be window-shopping for both until I find the right ones for my feet and my heart.