Double D and I exchanged e-mails this week about our respective fall wardrobes. I so wish she and I still worked together as we once did in San Francisco. With her keen fashion sense and sharply honed eye, she could easily green light a smart fashion choice...or veto a bad one. And she was always right. Alas, Double D moved on to North Hollywood for adventure and her gorgeous David, and I moved on to New York for adventure and loathsome cockroaches. Thanks to geography, we can't visually present ensembles for the respective thumbs up or down, but we can share opinions through e-mail.

With fall descending on southern California (which means temperatures are in the 70s), Double D was conflicted over her fall wardrobe. She asked what I was buying. I really had to think--I have been remarkably restrained thus far. I've added a few wrap dresses to the mix. A black and white mod cropped peacoat. A blood orange colored corduroy jacket. A vintage red faux crocodile purse. I'm eyeballing a zebra trench coat and a red wool military jacket, but I'm a little concerned about my lack of an overall game plan in piecing together fall clothing choices. Tsk. In October no less.

However, I've more than made up for it with shoes. The shoes that are being shown this season are bold and audacious and, I, seduced, have forged ahead without hesitation. Of course, I had to buy a pair of black stiletto boots, because, well, one always needs a new basic boot every season. A pair of plaid ankle boots. Black lace-up stacked heel boots for casual Fridays. Patent leather slingbacks. Houndstooth ankle boots. Black suede ballet flats. And the kick ass beauties I am wearing today: sangria red patent leather peep toe pumps with four inch heels.

I loved them on sight, seductively posed on the display, the light reflecting off them in Christ-like fashion. Slipping them on made me feel mighty. Strutting around the carpet in the shoe department like Tina Turner, I knew I had to make them mine. Perhaps some foresight would have been useful here.

As a Manhattanite, I do not own a car, so I am pretty reliant on my feet for locomotion. I can walk, even run, in most shoes, even three inch heels. When I put these on this morning, I rose up like a giant. I'm literally six feet tall in these shoes. I loved the sensation. Navigating the stairs to the subway was perfectly manageable and I basked in the feeling of authority as I stood eye to eye with most the men on the subway. However, once I got downtown and started the walk to work, I found that my usual strident pace was tempered. The heels are slim and elegant and I'm no Nicole Richie. One hard misstep and I would have taken out a few pedestrians like bowling pins. I also found walking in a straight and decisive line oddly challenging, as if my internal GPS was off. I kept weaving to the left, like a pollen-drunk bee. Once I had to steady myself by grasping onto a scaffolding support. A most auspicious start to my power stroll into the office.

I staggered into the office, ankles vexed, wondering if I'd made a poor choice. I was desperate for Double D's opinion. At that very moment of wretched indecision, I passed a fellow I work with. He works in the health and beauty industry so he's reasonably attune. Bless him, he actually stopped and said, "Wow! Those are some shoes you got on. Very nice."

I'm keeping them.