Those of you who follow me on Flickr (AND WHY WOULD YOU NOT?!) know that I love shoes. Love them. And since we have been deemed worthy of a DSW here in our little southern mecca, it has often been a reward for me to go shoe-shopping.

Admittedly, I don’t do much shoe buying. But DAMN, I love to go look at them. Aisles and aisles of shoes.. a whole warehouse! With a crystal-shoe chandelier in the lobby! And behind the curtains in the back, TONS OF DRASTICALLY REDUCED SALE SHOES!

Whoa. I had to step away from a minute, because I was foaming at the mouth. Yes, my love for DSW really knows no bounds. UNTIL FRIDAY, THAT IS.

I mentioned that shoe-shopping has been a reward for me. Sometimes, after a very hard day at work (which, lately, is any word that ends in ‘y’), I will steal away a tad early and go visit my shoes before picking up The Binja from daycare. And as you guys who follow me on Flickr (AND WHY HAVE YOU NOT MADE ME A CONTACT YET?!) know, I like to take pictures of shoes. I do this because, well, hell. I have a camera phone, and there are amazing shoes. Do I need to justify myself more than that? Surely not.

I really entered the holy shrine of shoes on Friday to get away. Work had been a bear, and I needed some organization, some calming rows of pretty things to make me sane again. I went and visited my Madden Girl shoes that I had been lusting after, only to find that they only had two pairs left in gray. TWO PAIRS, neither of which was my size. Red, brown, black? All stocked. But the grey had been wiped clean. Same with my Jessica Simpson heeled mary-janes. I was saddened that these shoes were all but beyond my reach. I sincerely hoped they had gone to good homes.

But the curtains beckoned me! I open a show next week and need some simple black heels for an outfit, and I thought, hell, if I can get some cheap black heels, I’ll buy ‘em and wear ‘em forever. I was torn between two pairs.. a Moda pair with 3.5 inch heels and a Steve Madden peep-toe with a more subtle 2″ heel. I started to snap the picture of the Moda heels with my iPhone, when a voice pipes in.

“Ma’am? Ma’am! You are not allowed to photograph the shoes!”

I was startled. And confused. Because, um, SERIOUSLY?

And I said something to the effect of, “The shoes? Seriously?!”

“Yes, ma’am,” said the sole nazi. She stepped up to me, and if she were a man, I would have said she bowed up to me. I almost was prompted to remove my jewelry to begin the knife fight. “Photography encourages shoplifting.”

“Alright, well, I’m so sorry. I had no idea.” Because, um, SERIOUSLY?

She stepped to me again. “You’ll need to put that away, ma’am.”

I think I was still trying to be nice at this point, although I was annoyed. “I understand you, but I was just trying to take a picture to see if this would work with my costume in a play. I wasn’t planning on photographing these shoes only to steal them. Because, um, seriously?”

And then she did the unthinkable. She said, “Ma’am, if you don’t put that away (referring to my iPhone), I’ll have to ask you to turn it over to us until you leave.”

At which point I may or may not have lost my shit. I guess it depends on how you define that lingo. I remember saying something to the effect of “PHOTOGRAPHING YOUR FUCKING SHOES IN YOUR FUCKING CLEARANCE SECTION WITH A FUCKING IPHONE” and perhaps a few other choice phrases, at which point she warned me that she was going to have to ask me to leave if I didn’t calm down.

And I thought, I’ll show her.

So I said, “Well, I’m leaving, but I’m not putting these slutty heels back. And before I leave, I’m going to buy a pair of shoes in the wrong size and they won’t fit, OH NO THEY WON’T, and I’ll tell everyone what a prick your company is.”

I know, right? How bad ass is that? (NOT BADASS AT ALL.)

And just to put the cherry on top, I went and found my Madden Girl shoes, picked up the box half a size too small, and sauntered up to the counter. The girl behind the counter was very young and very sweet, and even after she held her finger to her ear to listen to her Britney Spears ear-mike as the lady in clearance warned her of what a powder keg I was, she told me, “I’m sorry. I just started here.”

I hope she had a helluva time putting those shoes back, too. Bitch.