Find me The Shoe Whisperer

My shoes are killing me and it’s only 11 o’clock in the morning!

I wore a new pair of new shoes to work today. Well these sons-of-b*tches should have been broken-in like a wild horse.

I need the Shoe Whisperer! Someone to tame them, soften them and sooth them into not behaving like they’re trying to eat my feet with crocodile teeth.

Why is it that all beautiful things seem to give the most trouble?

Beautiful women = the world owes them a favour

Beautiful men = well... wild horses. They need a Man Whisperer

Beautiful children = spoilt

Beautiful flowers = stick you with their thorns

Beautiful countries = expensive, romantic, heart-breaking; tragic - wish I never left South London in the first place!

Beautiful food = makes you fat

Beautiful champagne = nothing wrong with that!!

Beautiful jewellery = you’re just a mugging waiting to happen

Beautiful hairstyles = high maintenance

Beautiful handbags = £1,000 a piece

Beautiful music = either makes you want to dance even when you can’t dance or makes you want to cry and ruins your mascara

Beautiful shoes = full of invisible crocodile teeth

Maybe I ought to invest in some corrective orthopaedic shoes. You know the kind of shoes that make you say “aahhhh” and do a little wee in your pants when you put them on.

That way I can walk around town without my dogs barking. After all, it’s not a pretty look to wince every step you make.

What’s a girl to do? Wear come to bed shoes or special needs shoes?

Why oh why is looking like a hot sensuous mama so painful?