I impress myself sometimes.

Today I successfully packed all of my worthless belongings for my triumphant return to campus. I had been putting it off all week and now, with under six hours left until departure time, I am almost done packing.

Anyway, that's not why I'm impressed. I know I can pack quickly. Leaving campus pretty much every weekend for the past two years has taught me that.

So how did you impress yourself then, Allison? Good question.

As you may or may not know, I love shoes. That is to say, I love buying and owning shoes. I don't so much love the wearing of shoes. More often than not I am either barefoot or in flipflops. (I swear there's a conspiracy going on because all the cute shoes are unbearably uncomfortable. We're talking about a bleeding-blister-causing, limp-inducing, utterly tortuous level of discomfort.)

Regardless, I own a lot of shoes. And I typically take them all to school with me. You never know when you will need brown suede ballet slippers or four-inch strappy heels or plaid mules or canvas tennis shoes or any number of colors of flipflops or any endless assortment of black flats. After all, the average college student has to do something to spice up that fine array of jeans, sweatpants, t-shirts, and hoodies.

Okay, okay. I'm getting to the point. Today I actually went through my shoes and decided not to take them all to campus. Keep in mind: this event was not as momentous as the time I gave away half of my shoe collection upon returning for winter break (no worries; I still had more than twenty pairs and promptly treated myself to a trip to DSW); but I am returning to school with a mere. . .

*drumroll please*

Eighteen pairs of shoes! (Not counting slippers or the shoes that go with my suit.)

Be impressed. I am.

It's fun. I promise.



The author apologizes for behaving like a stereotypical female and vows not to do this again any time soon. If she does, you have her permission to stone her in public. Just make sure you use the kind of foam stones that would be used on a movie set as props. Real stones would hurt. And then you would have to hear her tirade about trying to cover the ugly bruises with ten different kinds of concealer, and we would just be running around in circles with this no-behaving-in-a- girly-manner-thing, huh? Good. Glad we have an understanding.