It’s not me, it’s you.

shoesmaketheman

There’s something immensely satisfying walking down the main street of Newtown and seeing my shoes in a store window.

Well, technically, they’re not my shoes anymore.

But of course I’ll tell anyone who’ll listen that they’re mine.

Funny thing is, it hasn’t turned out to be the sex or job magnet I thought it would.

I thought it was a given that once I had designed and launched a range of shoes, that men, women and a small range of furry animals would regularly (and willingly) throw themselves on my sexual mercy.

I assumed I would be inundated with job offers, design collaboration ideas and invitations to the hottest parties in town.

I had hoped it would at least make me better looking.

Alas, none of those things have happened.

And now apparently, the owner of the store doesn’t want me standing outside pointing to the shoes and asking people…

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