I would kill for shoes, no I really would!

I have a disease and it all takes place below the belt. Now, now, now all you voyeurs! I elude to my feet. Toosties, the "soles.

Being a full-time mom, I am now officially a non-contributor to our household turnover. I am now unable to walk past the Nine West outlet and handover my credit card in wanton abandon, just because I can. My shoe collection has suffered immeasurably. I was once likened to the notorious Imelda Marcos! I was honoured! At the height of my addiction the collection clocked in at nearly 50 pairs! And I loved them all.

I mean, one never agonises over your choice of shower gel as much as you carefully contemplate the acquisition of a new pair of shoes. And I can be a real agoniser when it comes to shoes.

I liken buying shoes to a near on spiritual experience. The Dalai Lama would be proud. There is just something about the lighting on the display that speaks to me. I imagine myself wearing the pairs. I imagine all the jiggery pokery I could get up to in them. I fantasize about the things these new shoes will see. They are the perfect accomplice. They can never tell on me!

If you didn't know this about me before, I have, by my own standards, large feet. Size 7 to be exact and sandals just don't cut it in my world. They just look like twin pontoons waiting upon a torrential downpour when they will float me to safety. So I have found curious solace in boots.

Now there is no science behind it really but boots are less likely to make you look fat. They bulk up your feet to match your pant size if you choose them correctly! I always err on the side of "the bigger the boots are the smaller the bum looks"! This mantra has stood me in good stead thus far and I pray it continues. I mean, you don't ever hear your husband chiming, "nah, those boots make your bum look big". But any husband worth his salt wouldn't offer up any comment recognising this as being a loaded question anyway!

I think my love affair started at 18. I had been saving the money from my first real job (web-designer at SASOL!) and whilst the masses were flocking the local chain stores too get their fix, I was able to pause...............................and take my lolly to an exclusive joint and marry a pair of black suede platform pull-ups! It was better than sex. That being said I was only 18 and didn't really have much to go on in the sex department. But this shoe lark I sure could get used to.

So there I was, 18, and having just spent a stupid amount of money on footwear. Now my father, frugal Scotsman, was livid. He is of the school of thought that you save your money for rainy days but I simply, in all my naivety replied that there was a downpour in my soul! He was speechless.

And boy the things those boots and I got up to! Whoa. Something magical happened every time I put them on. I almost felt all I needed was a moulded rubber catsuit and Gotham would have a new face in town. I had my heart broken for the first time in those boots. I danced on tables. I slipped into exclusive clubs and VIP rooms in those boots. I was woo-ed in a Maserati in those boots. I think I may have even smoked my first cigarette in them too. I was invincible. Good times.

But those days are over now. The boots have gone to the beautiful shoe-heaven in the sky. The are kept good company by Gianni Versace and Alexander McQueen so I know they are far from lonely.

Now at present my meta-tarsals yearn for Italian leather with a tassle detail and hand-stitching. I am now stricken as to what shoes to wear with what because post baby I had every conceivable type of boot known to man. Black suede, brown faux, grey anklets and too many more to mention (notwithstanding that I lived in a place where the ambient temperature seldom dips below 25 Celsius, in winter no less!). Also, I am no longer in a place of financial freedom to keep up this lifestyle. I have also run out of grannies to trade!

But I am still a shoe slut. I perve over peoples shoes when we are out and about. I found myself doing it on Friday night at a friends house. I am terrible!

Menopausal women can get injections. Chocoholics can have hypnosis. Smokers can have a patch. I think I can imagine a patch to help me too. It's plastic, rectangular looking and shiny and has VISA stamped on the corner!

Best foot forward peeps!

PS. Donations welcome. :-)