perpetia sole

I like shoes. I'm superficial, whatever. That's the point where my life changes. The way it carves the ankle, the little toe cleavage at the end (since I can't find any cleavage anywhere else, I'll rely on my feet) the height. Everybody knows that a little heel goes a long way. One outfit could completely alter to the point of one hundred percent by purchasing one new sole. The sole is an assertion of the soul. Everybody can see your shoes and remark oh how stunningly fabulous they are, and therefore are in a sense, an outward expression of that which many surpress. they're reliable too -- certain articles of clothing may point of a fact on the human frame that brings major displeasure to the wearer, and critisism from the chorus of observers. However, shoes are hardly such a hi-lighter to features, instead, are the perfect accent and balance. The worse a shoe can scold is leg length, and particular styles are not suitable for those of little height (aka. moi).
Personally, a purchase can be the turning point of optimism. Recently, while squandering about on a rainy day, I stepped out to buy a new pair of espadrilles which immediately ignited my passion and desire for Spring to come a lot sooner than in a month. (And we, as British Columbians are well aware that March is not the particular ignition of warmer weather, more like rain instead of threatening snow and slush). Scenarios began unfolding as to where and how these shoes would be worn, where they would skip, where they would trudge -- all beneath the warm glow of the sun.
So hurry up spring, I'm getting weary of boots and ponyhaired flats.
It's time to bring the cute on.