When you say wedge, I say cheese

That probably should be the other way around. Anyone who knows me, knows that I live for food, and that food I live most for is...cheese. Oh how I miss a good smorgasbord of cheese. Oh how I miss Artisinal, where I could literally eat an entire dinner of cheese, and have done so on many occassions with no regrets. Who cares about arteries? They should be happy to be Manchego-lined!

I digress. This post actually isn't actually about cheese, it's about shoes. Yes, shoes. Specifically, the wedge. Now, I'm a self-proclaimed shoe-whore with a few *cough*..ndred pairs, which I lovingly packed and shipped to my new home. Sexy stilettos, suede peep-toed, calf-high boots (I may need them for a Halloweeen costume, you never know!), some that cost more than I should have paid, others that have curled my toes, all in the name of fashion. Just hearing "those are sooooo hot!" makes you forget the pain everytime. I sit here and stare at my well-laid out heels, because that's pretty much all I can do. Stare, not wear. That's because your daily shoe here is more likely a sandal or flip-flop (Havaianas carried at Soma!), even out at night. It's just the most practical. And ladies, if you want to dress up a bit more, wear wedge heels. They just make the most sense, and everyone here knows it, including me (now). Most soirees on the island are outdoors--gardens or sand, where a well placed 3-inch will have you stuck in place for a better part of the night, or on your ass. Had I known before, I would have bought wedges in every color. And skip the fancy brands, it just makes you cry when they get covered in mud.

So that's my tip of the day: If traveling to Bim, be it vacation or move, and you want to get all dressed-up, pack some sexy wedges--and bring a pair in size 8 for me too.

Ok, I'm really not a Bim-bo...

...at least I think I'm not. What I am is a displaced, big city girl, living on an island a smile wide. Seriously, a smile; Barbados, or "Bim" as it's affectionately known, is only 22 miles long and 14 miles wide (yet it can take 90 minutes to drive across the island--go figure). So what's a girl to do when her husband whisks her and a 6-week old cutie pie from bustling city streets to a 20 acre farm on an island? Right now I'm trying to figure that out.