Although you asked to write my memoirs while I still remember my name, sometimes I just like to write about Things. You know, purses, scarves, cast iron pots — important Pieces. Let’s consider the seriously important topic of women’s shoes. I have questions. What makes women’s shoes sexy? Will someone please explain that to me? Do sexy shoes mean stilettos? Stilettos on tall platforms? Rhinestone studded stilettos on tall platforms? Don’t you break your ankles when you trip wearing these shoes? Is the risk worth the benefit? It must be. I have it on good authority that actresses on the runways are actually grimacing in pain instead of smiling for the camera. But their feet look sexy, right? Never mind stilettos, consider pretty shoes. What makes them pretty? Is it because they make your feet look dainty and your legs look attractive? Is it how they enhance your ensemble? Seriously, what is it about a shoe that makes a woman’s heart melt? How is it that there are never enough shoes in the closet and yet there is never enough room in the closet to hold all of the shoes? How does that work? Why can some women I know try on every pair of shoes in their size and every one of them fits, yet I can try on 100 pair and none of them work? Where’s the parity in that scenario? Most importantly, for those of us of a certain age, how do we make peace with the fact that we’ve reached the stage of sensible shoes? That one’s a corker. My sister loved pretty shoes, better yet expensive petty shoes. Shoes and handbags were her sin of choice when she wasn’t gambling. Then came the day when her bunions hurt too much while wearing heels and her handbags weighed more than she did. The expensive shoes and the designer bags stayed in the closet. She left the house in sensible sandals. She was sad. Before I could afford to buy my own shoes, my parents could only buy one pair of Oxfords which had to last an entire year. If I was invited to parties that required dress up shoes I had to decline the invitation. That also was sad. By the time I reached Junior High, I discovered inexpensive shoe stores where I could buy high heeled pumps using my babysitting earnings. There were only two problems. I couldn’t keep them on my feet and they hurt so badly I couldn’t walk in them. It turns out I have what one shoemaker referred to as Expensive Feet. Nothing is where it’s supposed to be. My heels are too narrow and too short. My big toes point skyward. My instep is in the wrong place and it’s also too narrow. The whole setup is designed for custom-made creations that don’t exist in my price range. Adding insult to injury, I can’t wear anything higher than a two inch heel. Let me assure you, there are not enough rhinestones in the world to make a two inch heel look sexy on me because I also need straps. Other women can wear straps and look enchanting. On me, straps turn everything into sensible. Don’t get me wrong. I’ve tried all sorts of alternatives to straps. I step out of all of them, no matter how tightly the rest of the shoe is fitting. I have magic feet that can escape from any prison if there are no straps or lacing to keep them caged. There was a time when I frequently went Ballroom dancing. I studied Tango for a while. You know what I look like in Tango shoes with a sensible heel? Sexy is not the right answer. How about flats? Ballet slipper flats are adorable. Kitten heels are also adorable. I’ve bought them, worn them once, stepped out of them while crossing the street, and gave them all away. You want to know what works now? Slippers. I own the last pair of my size fuzz-lined, leather mule slippers in town. I only wear them in the house. The minute I step outside, they fall off. I don’t know what I’ll do when they wear out. Cry, probably. Also sneakers and sandals. I wear lace up sneakers in the winter and sandals in the summer — sturdy sandals with cork soles created for women who need sensible shoes. What’s so peculiar is that despite all these odds, I still long for those illusive pretty, sexy shoes that will stay on my feet, match what I’m wearing, and are not objects of self-torture. If by some miracle I find such a thing, I’m going to buy a pair in every color and then figure out where to put them in the closet.