And that sort sums up of how I feel. I mean, what's with this spiked heel? Are we actually supposed to wear it? Women's Wire tells me "these shoes introduce a new erogenous zone," calling them "glamorous stiletto heels." And then: "Remember what the Italians say: When it's in fashion, fashion is not uncomfortable." C'mon. We're talking about spiked heels here, and they're not comfortable.

But they are sexy. Shit. And there's my dilemma, you see. One of my favorite books from last year was Geoff Nicholson's "Footsucker." Just check out the heels on the book cover — it's enough to make Dr. Scholl turn in his grave! The novel is your basic love story, except that the narrator is a foot fetishist. He falls in love with a woman who has perfect feet and loves to have them worshipped. (Wouldn't it be great if life always had such easy answers?)

It's not that I'd call myself a foot fetishist, but I do love the eroticism of the foot. I love my knee-length black leather boots ("F.M. boots," my delicate younger sister calls them, though she doesn't use the abbreviation), and I did once walk into a shoe store and demand "the highest pair of black stilettos you have." I just wish I could wear them for more than an hour at a time.

But maybe that's the point. Every S&M enthusiast has to break for a cuddle and a cup of tea occasionally, right? It's the same with spiked heels. Contrary to the gospel according to Victoria's Secret, sometimes it's just not a spiked-heel-wearing kind of day, and I think that's as it should be. Don't try to pretend they're not fetishistic, because they are. So treat them that way. And don't wear them to the office (unless you're a sex worker).

One final note, while I'm on the subject of shoes: Candies are not sexy. Candies are not spiked heels. Candies are cheap, poorly-made shoes that look ridiculous in any size larger than 4. The ads are cool. The shoes are not.

That's all.