Finally, I hunted down new shoes #3. This pair I actually felt I needed. I went into the summer with only two pairs of sandals – one pair of flat peasant thongs and a set of red cork-soled slip-ons that have carried me bravely through at least 25 thunderstorms. And in case you're wondering why I would wear sandals at all and subject the world to my hideous feet, the answer is really quite simple. I fear that the damp, musty conditions created by closed shoes in the summer might cause my feet to sprout hideous feet of their own.

So with that, I headed over to the nearest department store and tried on two pairs of black sandals. I smoothly poo-pooed the saleswomen's attempt to talk me into buying the same shoe in four different colors, and after a mildly painful $75 (breaking my own vow of shopping chastity), I walked out with a pair of vaguely strappy wedges with attractive embroidery details. And yes, I still manage on a regular basis to trip over the heels. It's a gift.

Sadly, I still have not mastered the art of matching specific shoes to specific outfits. I'm still operating on the assumption that colored shoes go with colored clothing and black matches everything. I'm sure this has caused some uproariously ungirlish fashion blunders, but people are kind enough not to inform me. I'm also not really used to people looking at my feet and saying positive things. Every time someone tells my shoes are cute I feel an instinctive urge to apologize.