Anyone who knows me (or even merely Internet-Knows me), knows that I love Louboutins. I love them in ways that are immoral and condemned in the bible. I am a total rampaging whore for all high-end shoes, but Loubs in particular. They're the equivalent of that ex-boyfriend who calls you drunk at 3am, and you know you shouldn't, but you always answer the phone anyway, just because it's him. Yeah, it's like that. Louboutin's got my number and you know I'm picking up.
You can imagine how excited I was to be out in Saint Honore, Paris, and stumble across the original boutique that started it all. I had heard rumors about lines, and security guards. Yes, there are security guards, but no line, and I wasn't treated disrespectfully in any way by rude staff on power trips, so I'm glad. I hope that means they did away those staff members.
But on to the new shoes I went back home with!
Let's just say it's the kind of purchase where I'm glad I have my own money and bank account, because I know there is no good way to justify this purchase to anyone else. Unless they are also whores for fashion. Then you know they're gushing with me and trying to borrow them for them weekend, and will help me hide receipts, or come up with lies when the bank statement arrives, like "Christian Louboutin is my ophthalmological surgeon." (I think my husband would actually believe something like that).
I'm a 4/1, but I'm wearing them anyway, haters!