Hello, my name is Leah, and I am a shoe-aholic.

I love all types: flops, ballet flats, boots, but I have developed a special addiction to heels. They are the first items to catch my eye when I walk into a shoe store, and I jump at any chance to wear them. I feel fortunate that I now have a job where high-heeled shoes are an accepted and welcomed part of the dress code.

On my recent trip to Florence, I was captivated by the grand statues and magnificent architecture, but what I really wanted to do was to check out the merchandise at each shoe store we passed by – especially the ones that displayed the word saldi on the window.

I had a few free hours before catching the train back to Urbino, and there was no question as to how I would spend that time. Boutique after boutique, I wandered the rows of stilettos, wedges and pumps in all different styles and colors, but nothing really caught my eye.

Then I saw them. Peep-toe, slingbacks with a stained-brown wedge heel; these shoes were exactly what I was looking for. The black fabric with small pink flowers would match well with my wardrobe, and the wedges made for a comfortable work shoe. I couldn’t believe I had found something so perfect. It was almost too good to be true.

Sadly, that was exactly what it was. When I asked the salesperson if the store carried the shoes in my size, I was given a response to the negative. Instead, the woman brought out a pair of the same heels in my size, but in a different color. I begrudgingly tried them on, but this alternate version of my dream heels just didn’t seem worth the €60 price tag.

I still had my heart set on that black pair and desperately asked, in fragmented Italian, if they were available in the next size up. The lady brought out the box and held out one shoe for me to try on. I tightened the strap at my heel and stood up to see how they looked. To my dismay, there was about an inch of the shoe’s sole visible after my heel ended, but I decided that was something I could overlook.

I looked up, smiled and nodded to the salesperson, but she shook her head and said, “They are too big.”

It was then that I realized that she was not going to let me buy these shoes. I was shocked. Back in the States, I couldn’t imagine a retailer giving up a sale like this. In Italy, apparently, things are different, although I must admit I appreciated her honesty.

I was definitely sad to leave that store empty handed;  my pair of beloved wedges back on the shelf, waiting for another shoe lover to take them home. The purchase just was not meant to be, but I knew the salesperson was right. I had to let them go.