My sensible brogues are exhausted and worn. I’ll have to have them resoled soon.
I am now on intimate terms with every bar, honky tonk and joint within a 100 mile radius.

If I don’t find the owner of one Red Shoe soon, I may have to give up the search and rely on my scattered memories and dreams to assuage the longing in my heart.
Those curves of calf and hip and shoulder! WHY can’t I forget? WHY can’t I let go of images of abandon such as I have never known before? Those curves haunt me, tease me, embrace me and totally possess me. Such power to be found in the softness of a woman’s touch.

But for tonight, my sensible brogues have led me home, and over a straight up shot of Glenlivet I, gaze with longing and unquenched anticipation at one Red Shoe.
“Where’s your mate?” I whisper into the pale light of the approaching dawn. “Where’s MY mate?” I moan. There is only silence to answer my desperate wish.
And then it penetrates my alcohol fueled musings. The tap, and swish of an unbalanced gait in the hall outside my door. Tap, swish, tap, swish. What IS that sound?

Ding dong ding goes my avon calling doorbell.
I open it slowly, looking at the floor, my mind on that unsteady sound that stopped outside my door.

Those curves, those silk stockings, that SHOE!
“Pardon me”, she says, all husky voiced and slightly southern. “I do believe sir, that you have something I need?”
It has found me – the other Red Shoe.
My sensible brogues can rest, side by side with TWO Red Shoes in perfect harmony as I once again, lose myself in perfect curves, undreamed of in the minds of lesser men.