Where do grown up shoes go to die?

I just counted up the number of shoes in my wardrobe. Even after the monster cull when I last moved house, I still have 19 pairs of shoes, which means that 16 pairs are never getting worn.  Of these 7 are heels.

The thing is that I don’t wear heels. Maybe it’s an age thing, or brittle bone disease is settling in, but I can no longer spend a day elevated beyond the 5’5″ (and a half) that genetics bestowed on me.

Significant shoes in my life are all trainers. My neighbour describing me in my Hi-tec hightops as looking like a golf club (back in the skinny days).  Spending a ridiculous amount of money on Fila. Living and dying in white leather Adidas with red and blue stripes (can’t remember the name but I loved them), traveling in red Sambas, slouching in Asics and these days it’s all about Converse.

I love my trainers, I hate my heels.

In the winter this isn’t a problem; I wear boots.  Boots go with everything, ergo, no problem.

This time of year though it is a problem.  I’ve faced the fact that I’m not a heels girl, that I like to be able to walk ‘like me’, and that even on my fattest days I’m going to forgo the height to girth advantage that heel-wearing bestows. So what the buggering hell am I going to wear to work now? And what do I do with all these shoes?!