This is not a shoe blog: Because in order to stop talking about knockers, I need to talk about shoes

The rain clouds have cleared and the sun is calling me away from my laptop. Or at least, away from my work on the laptop. It's Friday, so that means a happy hour of shoe perusal will light me up more than a pom mojito and hefeweizen chaser.

And why not? My work today has centered on posts about bedtime routines, Mischa Barton's cellulite, sunscreen and getting your roots done in a timely manner -- how much more demanding can my day get? Clearly, it's time to knock off the hard work (not to mention the knocker talk of previous posts) and end this week once and for all. So, on to shoes and to four foot-focused questions that have really been on my mind this week:

First, with the birth of Jamie Lynn's bundle of love and adorably inevitable dysfunction, I'm wondering what flip-flops y'allses are wearing this summer? You know, around the $3 million crazy compound or park or trailer park or whatever. I picked up five pairs that are cheap, cute and can be trashed recycled as easily as any Spears sister (oh snap).

 
Second, no matter how cute they might be, is there any way in hell you think you could feel good about wearing Playboy brand shoes? Is there any little possibility -- no matter how cute -- you could wear these wedges without feeling like you also need to apologize incessantly, get a Brazilian and then take a long walk on the beach while enjoy your favorite thing, the smell of fresh rain?

Third, in the words of the ever-articulate Jessica Simpson, "Oh. Mah. Gaw." It is official (this is me talking now, not that other Jess), Re-Run from What's Happening officially comes in a shoe. Or will in the next few days at a muffin-top-XXXLowRise promoting teen retailer near you.

Fourth and final and speaking of Our Lady of Romance and Inappropriate Fathers, how is it that she's so not good at singing and stuff and still makes such sweet, sweet shoes? You do think she  produces all her own preliminary shoe sketches, don't you? Don't you? (How long do these lovelies need to whisper my name before I finally allow them to come home with me and live on my closet floor?)

Now you stomp it out: What shoe snark are you pondering today?