Ah, Jimmy

I opened my shoe closet with the familiar goal of reducing clutter.  As my eyes glanced over a rather large selection of shoes of every possible type, from duck boots to roman sandals, my attention was drawn to one particular pair that was certainly a good candidate for purging:  A pair of black Jimmy Choo stiletto heels.  

My dearly departed friend M., a.k.a. Imelda Marcos, was the one who first introduced me to Jimmy.  I was reluctant, but not in the same way as with Manolo or Christian.  For many years I had counted on a certain Italian brand to provide walkable heels for work, but I found myself in need of a simple black heel a few years ago, and none were on offer at my favorite shop at that given time.

Thus, the Jimmy Choo stilettos, tools of patriarchal oppression, source of discomfort, especially for middle-aged wearers, and overpriced deformers of feet!  Certainly they could go in the garbage.  But then I decided to try them on for what I thought would be the last time...