Sistersophisto

There are only two kinds of women in the world. Those who love shoes and those who had the misfortune to be born without the ability to experience total bliss on finding a pair of perfectly designed pumps in the right size at half-price. Theres a direct correlation: the more shoes a woman owns, the nicer person she turns out to be. The more she obsesses about footwear, the more normal she becomes.Those of us who love shoes are happy, passionate, exuberant people. Whenever we meet, we recognize each other with our own special greeting, the shoe-aholics hello: Ooooh, we say. Cute shoes.I call them the Imeldas, the friends I go shoe shopping with, named in honor of the patron saint of footwear, Imelda Marcos, with her three-thousand-pair wardrobe.Calling it simply shopping, though, is an understatement. Shopping implies an efficient task completed, a quick commercial transaction, a mere exchange of money for goods. What we do is a sort of moving meditation with stream-of-consciousness voice-over, a multitasking way of bonding. Quality time. We case our favorite stores, catch up on each others news, sound out each others opinions, and pursue our personal quest for the perfect comfort-to-style-ratio heel, all at the same time. We roam freely, pausing whenever a shoe catches our eye, exploring every delight each store has to offer. All our senses are satisfied: we finger taffeta slides, inhale the fragrance of new leather, test-drive four-inch stilettos, gossip outrageously.Its not just shopping. Its also relaxing, stimulating, and productive a hobby and a necessity and a pleasure all in one.