Your Number

So, what’s your number?  I didn’t.  No, no I didn’t because I wouldn’t.  Who would?  Who would seriously ask you this and expect a response?  A response, that whether low or high, opens you up to all sorts of snicker and judgement.  Too low and obviously there’s something lacking in your life, too high and well, of course, you are insatiable and foolhardy.  I don’t think I live on either of those extremes but who knows what you might think if I give up my number.  Before I contemplate doing this, though, giving up this secret number, I should actually know what it is.  I know.  I haven’t a clue.  That says something right there, doesn't it.  I know.  I was a bit concerned too, so this weekend, armed with a ‘this is who I am, so whatever is is’ bravado I took to the tabulation.  Wistful memories aside, it was a very good exercise.  Comparing and contrasting, it was remarkable how many of them were the same or very, very similar.  We all go back to our comfort zone, right?  So predictable, am I.

You want to know, right?  Are you ready?  Promise no judgement.  Because, I’ll tell you right now whatever number you scroll down to isn’t going to end there.  Oh no, not me.  I can’t help myself.  Just this weekend I added another 3.  I know I need help, but really, you can’t pass up these opportunities!  It would be foolish to walk away from them, especially when they give you such pleasure – you simply want more.  Need more.  I know someone out there understands me. 

Here goes.

Right now.

Almost ready.

Should I do this?

What the hell.  The truth will set you free. 

71.  Seventy One.  LXXI. 

Surprised? Expected?  Reasonable?  Shocked? Well, no matter.  It is what it is, as they say.  I make no apologies.  I offer no explanation. 

I own 71 pairs of shoes.