Won't somebody think of the shoes??

So I was on my way home from NYC to visit Bub this weekend with three bags in hand - my suitcase (unbelievably fricking awesome new weekend bag made from antique turkish carpets that Bub negotiated down in Istanbul that also kinda blends in a cool way with my luggage set), my laptop bag, and my overstuffed stupid annoying LV purse that has no pockets so everything just swims in there and I'm scared to stick my hand into for fear of getting bitten - and I decide upon reaching Union Station that what I really need is a pair of those 1940's pin-up-girl super high heeled pumps in suede. Or, I walked by Nine West, which I never usually frequent, and saw a pair - or ten - in the window. On sale. I had already decided to hoof it on the metro (more on my car dying later - put that in the file of posts I'd like to write but probably never will) and couldn't feel my arms, I was already so overloaded. So of course I went in.

The salesgirls there are good. I had about 10 pairs in front of me before I could say boo, including the following:

So I bought the red ones, which I thought would look cute with this little black dress and black tights, and I bought the darker grey ones, because I thought they would look okay for work.

Soooo, next morning at 5:30 when I'm getting dressed - black skirt, black sweater, red scarf, trying on those grey shoes....and I look like a hooker. A high class one, but a hooker nevertheless. Now, the red ones are for going out and who doesn't like to channel The Dita every now and then. But the grey is on its way back to the store...and I went on Zappos and bought a pair of brown rounded toe stillettos, never fear!