Let's jump right into the issue at hand: I love quirky shoes and clothes, but I've gotten into a rut in my day to day routine. In past posts, with mocking tones, I reflected on the "uniform" of my pre-married Hubzam - only to realize I had adapted my own form of "Momiform." The Momiform does everything but shout: "I'm not going anywhere today but the laundry room."
Sadly, I wear it everywhere else, too.
Getting ready for a night of stand-up comedy just caused the spotlight to shine on my fashion slide. If my wardrobe had a brand it would be Plus Sized Bleh or Mommy Meh. What happened to my fun stuff? Equally important - how can I fund the return of quirky?
I needed a plan to expand my wardrobe. Starting at the bottom, I decided I needed to find shoes to wear; that seemed to be a simple, easy starting point. The search began and soon afterward, I realized the hand that fate had dealt me.
The obvious facts behind the fashion decline had been ignored. The Momiform was not a creation of a bored mind, but a stressed checkbook; the price I had paid for leaving the lucrative workforce to stay home and do whatever I want (that is what I tell myself when I miss work - I'm free! I'm free!).
Actually, nothing is free. One of the first things I noticed that wasn't free was the Charlotte Olympia Kitty Flat priced at $660. Now, don't get your panties in a knot, fictional or real life Charlotte Olympia. If I win the lottery, I will buy a pair of your shoes and I will wear them till the kitty face looks like a melted Yoda. But not today.
|Charlotte Olympia Kitty Flats: $660|
Today, I am Frugalista, the explorer of Internet steals and deals, and Frugalista doesn't buy $660 shoes. Frugalista buys groceries and giant packs of toilet paper. Frugalista can tell you the price of most of the required textbooks for high school (and all the other grades, too). Teen clothes? Check. Music lessons? Check. Camping trips? Check. Haircuts, doctor's visits, poodle toys, and all the other necessities are covered, baby, with cheapskate aplomb. There's not a single spot on my list for $660 shoes.
|Cat Shoe by Jon Josef: $165|
Which led me to the Jon Josef Cat Shoe at $165. You know, I could live with that, if it weren't for my overt tightwaddery. And in spite of the noticeable red squiggly line below the word "tightwaddery", I'm going with that term. Those are so close to the CO 660s (as I nicknamed them), that I was determine to find even more of a deal.
|Blink Cat Slippers: $50|
I found cheapo nirvana.
An online auction rewarded my efforts with a pair of cat flats, shipped from China, for $14.95. Oh, yeah, step up - pat me on the back and take a look at these beauties:
|Chinese knock off: $14.95 (includes shipping and incredibly potent rubber smell)|
If the Chinese ever enter the world of perfumery, they will slay France and the USA. This smell has staying power like no one's business. My whole house smells like Akron, Ohio.
I refuse to give up. I'm a "silver linings" type of gal. So, to my local friends - for $1 you can smell my unbelievable bargains. Guaranteed not to smell like any shoe or foot you've ever encountered - unless you're really good friends with Gumby. Trust me, I don't have the literary skills to convey the experience. Bring a friend. Word will spread quickly, and I just might have those Charlotte Olympia Kitty Flats.
Just in case, if you see me doing stand-up, don't sit in the front row.