I know I’ve mentioned my love of fabulous shoes. Actually, I’m a slave to great shoes. But it’s voluntary servitude. It won’t be required for another few months. (Why yes, I did just slip in a snide comment about Obama there.)
And the lovely green tape peeking through. Apparently, I broke my toe last night. This is not exactly an unusual occurrence for me. The unusual part is that I don’t have a clue how I did it. I must have kicked something on the way to bed last night. Either that, or I’m kicking Michael in his sleep really hard.
Any unexplained bruises this morning dear?
All I really know is that every time the covers brushed across my left foot, pain shot up my leg. This morning, it was misshapen and swollen. Once I put weight on it, it turned colors. Maybe I could write a musical: Jennifer and Her Toe of Many Colors. I’ll cast an Osmond. Now that I look at the picture, I realize the entire foot is swollen. So. Very. Attractive.
No, I have not gone to the doctor. I went to a doctor for a broken toe many years ago, and he just taped it to the next one. You know what? I have tape, and it’s in such a fetching color. I bet Mr. I-have-a-lot-of-letters-after-my-name-and-so-I’m-better-than-you doesn’t have tape in AstroTurf green. Besides, I’m just getting used to the idea of not being able to get an appointment anyway. (Yep, I did it again.)
And did I dig to the nether regions of my closet for sensible shoes? Oh hell no! Maybe now Mr. Giver-of-Crocs will take pity on me. Don’t you see what I will do to make sure my feet are outfitted in style? I could have totally rocked a pair of these today
But I’m still holding out for the purple boots.
Ha! Ha! Ha! You only thought I would grow tired of the shameless linking.
I am now hurt. I told you yesterday, repeatedly, that I wanted boots. I think maybe you misheard me. I want them for me. Not for Mommy’s Martini, but for me. Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy for her that you gave her boots, but I very specifically requested them. Imagine my surprise when I opened my feed reader this morning only to find my boots on another blog.
And so Mr. Giver of Crocs, I hope you understand my supreme disappointment. I can only assume that you don’t love me. Nor do you care about the opinion of a woman who does wear 3-4 inch heels on a daily basis. Fine. I see how you are. I have feelings you know. And email. (jennifer AT injennifershead DOT com)
They’re probably really the hideous clogs that I would never let near my size 7.5 feet anyway. It is all through some creative camera angles and photo editing trickery that they look like smoking hot boots anyway. Somehow you’ve hidden the inherent abhorent nature of the Croslite creation. I’m sure the very molecules of this substance somehow alter one’s DNA in such a way as to make elastic waist fleece seem like a socially acceptable garmet. There is a chemical that creates a bad trip to a place where comfort is the only concern when clothing oneself. You’ll see, one day they will have to do a spinal tap to find the lingering substance. It will happen when some starlet shows up at the Emmys in a muʻumuʻu, only to find her parents outfitted her in these as a child.
If I see these on someone else’s blog tomorrow, I’ll know you’re doing this just to torment me.
Have I mentioned that I love shoes? I suppose maybe once or twice. It’s not like I have a category devoted to them. Oh wait, I do. I’ve written previously about the hideousness that is Crocs. I am speaking of the horrendous monstrosities that should be relegated to working in the garden. Or shot with a shotgun and then burned in the campfire.
And then, Mr. Lady wrote this.
Shit. Those are cute. And they are Crocs. I can’t put it into one sentence. I’m afraid my head would explode, and I’d never find all the pieces. Just having that thought is making some screws loosen and smoke come out of my ears.
And yet, I want to link shamelessly link Crocs. Because of this, and this. But oh Mr. Giver of Crocs, if you really want to give me something-I want these. Chili Pantone in a size 7.5.
Your clogs will still be an abomination of the first order, but these offer a chance of salvation.
The world must be coming to an end. I’ve found Crocs that I could own, and I’m thinking of copying a fashion idea from Madonna. (thx Ginny for the Madonna story)
And Mr. Lady, if my head spins so fast that it comes off due to the paradox overload, I’m coming after you!
Have I mentioned that I really, really love my husband? Cause I do.
We are in Houston this week. I am staying with my wonderful cousin Kay and exploring the city with no schedule what-so-ever.
Yesterday, we braved the traffic insanity and headed back to the Houston Galleria. We had lunch a Ninfa’s with Ginny of Cat O’Nine Tales. She and her children are fabulous, and I hope to get together with them again sometime. Maybe next time I will get to show her around my stomping ground. We would hang out all the time and snark at crowds if it weren’t for the darn 7 hour drive.
This is the three of us after lunch.
Her children are lovely as well, but I am not publishing that picture. Our sons would have been fast friends but we didn’t bring ours on this trip. Sometimes you’ve got to have an adult getaway.
Continue reading Those Seven Little Words
Noooooo!!!!! Crocs made heels! I don’t mean a beautiful croc heel like this one. I mean a strange rubbery creation grown out of the hideous ubiquitous clogs.
I don’t really give a damn how comfortable they are. My feet deserve to reside in beauty. They make anti-fungal products for things that mold to your feet.
Something you should know about me is that I love shoes. Fantastic, fabulous, high-heeled, high-fashion shoes. I can’t help it, it’s in my genetic make-up. I am a quarter Filipino after all. I know, that’s tacky. Seriously though, I love shoes. So when I saw these beauties on a shelf on Saturday, I absolutely had to have them. They are Charlie Horse by Luccese, and they were on sale. Big sale. I got them for $25 a pair. So I bought 4. 2 pair for me, 2 pair for my mother-in-law. Here’s the other pair.