Hello, all you beautiful people out there in the dark.

I was feeling a little bad about the extent to which I wish it was Fall already until coworker Melvin delivered a bah-humbug speech about what he called "our imminent inundation with the commericialization of Christmas." Minutes later, Lady Lucifer in our head office sent an e-mail asking me to confirm my attendance for a meeting that doesn't take place until January of 2009. All in all, my wishing for September no longer strikes me as jumping the gun.

And anyway, I haven't had too much time to think about the seasons, as I woke up this morning (late, for those of you keeping the Chart of Irresponsibility) obsessed with the idea of a certain pair of BCBG shoes. I once owned this pair of shoes, seven years ago, and wore them into the ground. They were the perfect shoes. Very high, but with wedge heels made of rubber, and so comfortable that I could wear them for thirty-nine hours in a row if I had to. I remember the first time I wore them: I stepped onto the street in San Francisco, and knew that I was heading toward interesting times. I was not mistaken. I called them The Dangerous Shoes, or Les Chaussures Dangereuses and when I finally retired them, in late 2001, to a trash can in Tucson, we were both ready for it. At the time, I viewed it as a little graduation ceremony--minus the mortarboard and disappointment over not receiving a car. I believed that I was ready to move on to new and better shoes.

Over the past year, I have begun to miss the shoes again. I miss the sense of possibility they possessed. Several months ago, I started looking for the shoes on eBay--they've long been out of the retail stores. I didn't find them, but I had faith that when my luck was ready to change, the shoes would appear. The power of magical thinking allows me to believe that the arrival of the shoes means that my life will mystically improve. I love magical thinking.

A few months ago, I had a moment of misguided elation when I found two pairs of Les Chaussures Dangereuses on eBay on the same day. Alas, one pair was half a size too small, the other a size and a half too big. Fond as I am of divining meaning from the slightest clues, I intuited this as a sign that the shoes no longer fit me. Fond as I am of ignoring signs, a couple of days later, I continued looking for the shoes. I even bought a newer model by the same company, thinking that their appearance on eBay was a sign that I was ready to move up to the next thing. When I tried those shoes on, I realized that they were a poor substitute. Sure, they're lovely, but they're not high or sleek enough.

Eventually, I tired of the fruitless searching and became obsessed with another pair of shoes--totally impractical $225 bronze and chocolate brown velvet platforms. I found a new pair in my size on eBay for $40, but missed the end of the auction due to inattention and drinking (probably). Although I hadn't cared enough to place a bid, my failure to acquire the shoes launched a new obsession with obtaining them. I searched for two days, to no avail, and even considered the horror of paying retail. I know. It was bad.

This afternoon, disheartened, I went back to my original search, for Les Chaussures Dangereuses. Searching by brand and model brought nothing. A general description returned hundreds of results. I slogged through the pages, finding nothing, but then a listing with no picture caught my eye. The description seemed wrong, but I clicked on the link, and then watched as a picture of the shoes developed. They were my shoes! And they were my size! And they were cheap. And no one else had bid on them.

The auction ends tomorrow. I plan to watch it like a hawk (and with BidNapper). I am ready to win this change of luck.

Star of the day. . .Unconvincing transvestite Emily Howard