On January 27, 2006, I bought a pair of gold strappy high heels to wear out for an evening with my girlfriends. I love these shoes - they are very Carrie Bradshaw - but little did I know they were about to become tainted that evening.

These beautiful shoes are apparently not designed for a night of booty shaking. So after a few hours and a lot of dancing, my feet had seen better days. The club was particularly full that night and there was no place to park it and give my feet a much needed rest so out of sheer desperation, I sat on the floor. A bouncer saw me right away and told me to get up to which I replied "My feet hurt!". He told me I could leave if my feet hurt that badly. So being the defiant little bitch that I am, I said "Fine!", grabbed my things and stomped my way out.

Ten minutes later, I was performing field sobriety tests on Montauk Highway and having handcuffs slapped on my little wrists.

They officially became known as "The DWI Shoes".

For over a year, I have been jokingly blaming my DWI on the shoes. If it weren't for the fact that the hell-shoes hurt so damned much, I would never have sat on the floor of The Nutty Irishman. I mean, of course I know it was MY fault that I attempted to drive home after drinking too much. But it is kind of funny after the fact to place the blame on my footwear. I mean, I wasn't ready to leave yet. I WAS done drinking and was planning on waiting before I drove home. And the freakin fat bouncer made me leave.

At any rate, for over a year I have had a love/hate relationship with the shoes. They are so pretty but everytime I see them in my closet I stick my tongue out at them for what they did to me. And I have not worn them since that night. I have not been able to find the strength to put those things back on my feet without getting mad at them.

This past Sunday, one of my girlfriends had an Oscar Party for which we had to dress up. I spent two hours getting ready for it - all the time watching live Red Carpet coverage on the E! channel for inspiration.

After I got out of the shower I did my makeup and flat ironed my long dark hair so that it was stick straight. Then I painted my nails and toes a very pale coral shade called "Goddess". Still in my bathrobe, I went to the kitchen and poured a glass of pinot noir then went to my bedroom to get dressed.

My dress was floor length brown and taupe satin with a circular beaded neckline that gave way to an open back. I slipped on the gown and began to feel a bit like a movie star. Even more so when I put on the enormous gold and crystal chandelier earrings I had bought earlier to go with it. Next I had to make the decision about what to put on my feet.

I stood in front of my closet looking at over a hundred boxes and pairs of shoes glittering at me. But there was only one obvious choice - The DWI Shoes. Not only did they match perfectly but this was their chance to redeem themselves.

I took them out and sat on the edge of my bed gently placing each foot into the shoe and fastening the strap around my ankle. I stood up. It felt okay - no anxiety, no animosity towards them. It felt kind of good actually. I decided to take a look at the whole ensemble in the full length mirror in my living room.

As I stood there staring at my reflection - super dark, super straight hair, humongous earrings, long, glamorous gown, and the shoes - I knew who I was. I was Cher circa 1972. And I loved it.

The shoes have now worked their way out of DWI hell, just like I did. I don't know why I punished them for so long. Perhaps I needed to let go of my own bad feelings about what I did. Or perhaps I just needed to bring a new meaning to the one symbol I still have from that night.

But from now on, they are no longer "The DWI Shoes"...they are "The Red Carpet Shoes".