It is time for me to get some new shoes.

I am not a ‘shoe’ person. I have a couple of brown ones, a few black ones, two pairs of sneakers, some sandals, cowboy boots – and that’s it. I wear shoes until they are worn out. I usually replace them with a new pair more or less the same. I keep buying the oh so sensible penny loafers or wing-tips, over and over. I suspect I am a salesman’s dream. I will try on two pairs of shoes, pick one them, and go. The transaction takes only a few minutes.

In “Legally Blonde” the law student deduces the witness is gay as he knew her shoes were last season’s Pradas. To illustrate this, she asks her straight colleague ‘What kind of shoes am I wearing?”  His response: “Ah, black”.  I am that sort of person.

Shoes either bewilder or bother me. Not long ago they resembled those on the feet of Frankenstein.  This year, men’s shoes seem long and pointy, like the noses of alligators. They make men look like Santa’s elves in mourning.

This is much to the chagrin of Someone, who has more shoes than Mrs. Marcos. He has a good eye for style, and buying shoes is actually ‘fun to do’.  “Don’t you have black shoes already?” I ask, when he brings home another box from his boyfriend Cole Hahn.  He explains these black shoes are different than the ones he already has – and besides, these are “this year’s”.

Lest you think I am a stick in the mud, consider this. Thanks to Mr. Water’s “Female Trouble”, saying the words ‘cha-cha heels’ never fails to make me smile. Someday I want my own pair. I don’t even know what cha-cha heels are, but I want some. Black ones. Despite the fact nice girls don’t wear cha-cha heels.

They can go between the penny loafers and the wing-tips.