Confession: I'm a shoe-aholic. And, for the record, not many of my shoe purchases make any sense at all. Sure, I will buy a pair at the same time as a special occasion dress sometimes, but for the most part, I'm pretty much willey-nilley in the whole process. A shoe just has to look good with my ankles at the store, and I'll buy them. The pile you see at the left is the pile of shoes that I've decided to hang up the dream on. I don't ever wear them, I don't foresee myself wearing them, and I don't even know what the hell possessed me to buy them in the first place. They're all heels, you see. I'm 5'8". I don't NEED heels. Heels are uncomfortable. They are impractical. They're not even good for you--back, feet, all kinds of problems will come from them. So, I quit you, heels. You are dead to me. It may be a myth that any woman burned her bra in the 60s, but I assure you, these heels shall be charred.