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As those of you who follow my blog now by now I love shoes. They don’t have to be expensive or fashiony as long as there is something about them that makes my heart smile.

This lifelong passion started from an early age and like most little girls I yearned for my very own pair of sparkly red Dorothy slippers. I wanted to dance down the yellow brick road holding hands with the scarecrow, sing with the munchkins and click my heals while making a wish.

Sadly I never got those sparkly red shoes and ever since then my eyes light up when I see a pair of shoes in any hue of rouge, and if I even like the design I find it very hard to resist the urge to want to own.

So yesterday evening, after teaching a class, I walked down Grafton Street making a short shopping list in my head. Sadly I underestimated the danger all those sale signs dangling in the shop windows. Half way down the street the lure of the 70%-Off won me over, so I wandered into a shoe shop.

Luckily for me I didn’t really see anything I wanted, flats with studded, spiky tops aren’t really my style, simmering disco ball stilettos are very low in my “need” list  and as I really only but leather shoes the variety of plastic and faux fur didn’t really inspire me. However as I was heading to the door a flash of red caught my eye and I saw them and they called me “mammy”.

I tried them on and was in love. I may not need them and Mr Winter is on his way out but the little red ankle boats were to pretty to leave behind. So as I stood and admired them in the mirror I clicked my heals three times and mumbled under my breath “there’s no place like home”.

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