My name is Melissa. I am a shoe-aholic.

The symptoms never change: My heart starts to palpitate. Cold sweat blankets my palms. The lights get brighter and brighter. I get giddy from the colours. The smell of leather permeates the air. I am excited and anxious all at the same time. A wave of excited nausea rises and falls. The urge is tremendous and if I don't get my fix, it feels like certain death.




Yes, I am shoe shopping.





As of late, my shoe addiction is getting worse. I need a new pair every other week. It could be a pair of sandals or a sparkling pair of gold heels that I'll probably wear once. I can still practice self-restrain in a bookstore or look away during a sale at Levi's but shoes....Oh the horror! I'm like a moth drawn to a flame. Burned by the evil of two-inch heels I never really need but oh-so-painfully want. My brother says it's the Filipino in me: A simple case of Imelda Marcos-itis.

Here's my latest pair, barely three hours old. Everything's so pretty in pink, sigh. I tried on FOUR pairs and with the last remaining bits of willpower, I managed to tell the sales assistant, "It's ok...I'll....just....take...one...pair" *choke*

Just few of my ever-growing collection. The white Charles & Keith wedges make me at least four inches tall but the blisters are hell to pay...

A woman can never have enough shoes. And woe to the man who dares question this.