Prada shoes with flower heels $590, Neiman Marcus.com

A bouquet of blossoms is just a bunch of dead plants.

The only flowers worth presenting on V Day are these Prada shoes.

Gift yourself these flower Prada shoes, slip them on your stems, and put out.

As for your toyfriend –

You can’t say “I love you” without a big, capital “I.”

Christian Louboutin shoes $755, Net-a-Porter.com

All things are not created equal.

Some hookers have the discipline to stand tall and live independently, resisting the gravity of lying flat; some housewives are scared of heights.

Some hookers have fearlessness to make their blues bright against a mad red sole; some housewives would rather live in a twilight of gray.

Some hookers trade value for value in order to pay for f**k-you shoes; some housewives live off an allowance of slippers.

But wherever, however you were born, remember: you can make yourself.

Hopefully into a woman that Christian Louboutin’ll make shoes for.

Christian Louboutin shoes, “Declic,” $640, Net-a-Porter.com

A lot of living life is as simple and clean as standing as tall as possible — not lying on your back, letting things come to you.

Unless you’re in a million-thread-count bed sheets, your legs stretching to the ceiling, your feet in these red-soled, f**k-you shoes.

You know, writing an opposite-of-wet business plan.

That can also prove profitable.

Bionda Castana shoes $629, Bianda Castana.com

Sex isn’t an indecent act of instinct, a lust you’re too lazy, too crazy to control.

Sex is desire that makes you watch your walk, sex is a slip inside something built for you before you knew it, sex is a pure pleasure to be paid for.

So slide on these shoes, arch your back in match to the heel, stretch your legs into the air, and –

Do yourself.

Bionda Castana shoes $620, Bionda Castana.com

It begins with something long and hard, pinning you up for a dive into slick skin.

It leaves you happy, hungry enough to be strapped down by just a thin sliver of patent leather.

It climaxes in a toe-curling, perfect peak.

By the by, you dig these f**k-you shoes?

Alexander McQueen shoes, $805, Net-a-Porter.com

Your new year shouldn’t be a twilight of grays, a melt of highlights and lowlights, a boring blend of neither success nor failure.

Your new year should be bright white striped with base black, it should be pure success played up by dark lessons.

Your new year should be an ambitious arch balanced on a pin-thin heel of risk and a fat platform of soul to save you.

But should you want to waste your new year, at least do it going into debt for Alexander McQueen f**k-you shoes, while jetting ’round the world, snorting coke off a model’s six-pack.

Christian Louboutin shoes with sequins $925, Net-a-Porter.com

New Year’s Eve isn’t for getting smashed, forgetting your past. New Year’s Eve isn’t for getting screwed by just anyone, forgetting any future. New Year’s Eve is best balanced between last year and later, making the present a real gift. New Year’s Eve ends and begins with a hard, wet midnight kiss. New Year’s Eve has you on your toes, sliding in and out of your past and future, in and out of classic and current. New Year’s Eve rides on your dark dirty history towards red-rosy hopes. New Year’s Eve comes hard to the realization you should celebrate your now. Always.

Though even New Year’s Eve knows now might not look so good later, sober.

Especially to your boyfriend.

Published in eVelvetRope.com

Stuart Weitzman shoes $200, Bloomingdale’s

“Thanks for dinner, sexy.” I kiss The Boy, my boy, my lips stamping Chinese tea on his stubbled cheek.

“Twenty bucks,” reads The Boy, signing the check. “You’re the most low maintenance chick ever.”

I pat my carefully curled bobbed hair, I dab my polished nude lips with crisp linen. “I try.” While The Boy fishes for the waiter’s attention, I eye my eyeliner in the mirror of my porcelain powder compact.

“Do you know how many chicks would bum about coming to this Schezwan hole in the wall,” continues The Boy, “wishing I’d take them to Nobu instead?”

“Ridick,” I say. “Tell the hoes to book the reservation and pay for dinner, then.” I stab at kung pao chicken, letting the little piece sit a second in my mouth. “And then, tell the chick if she’s charming enough, at the end of dinner you’ll consider giving her brain.”

“I only realized 10 years ago,” he says, “how screwed up it was that girls thought they were doing me a favor, letting me buy them dinner, giving them a good time so they could decide whether or not they wanted to blow me.”

“It’s insane,” I say. “Women can make just as much money as any dude now. There’s no glass ceiling. Why should a man pay for everything?” I smash my fortune cookie, its crumbs contained neatly in its plastic wrapper. I pull out the sliver of paper: You will do well in your own business.

“Seriously,” says The Boy. “If you had a twin sister who was an exact clone of you, but already way loaded and she paid for everything, I’d dump you for her.”

“Do you really mean that?” I ask. I grind The Boy’s fortune cookie into the glass table: You value your morals over money. “I completely understand. That’s why we’re together: because I’d dump you for her, too.”

Miu Miu pumps with jeweled heels $650, Net-a-Porter.com

I’ve heard first impressions are important. But I’ve also heard I shouldn’t speed, I shouldn’t swear, and I shouldn’t write anything but nice.

People talk a lot of bull.

So check these boss Miu Miu shoes. From the front, the peep toes strap down boring, but the black and white jeweled heel is studded rich for when you turn on your heels, perfect for a final, fabulous “F**k you.”

Make an exit, leave the party early, go home and work (on your career or the Ken doll you met at the bash).

Because life isn’t about where you begin–it’s about where you end.

Which is hopefully on top, no matter what you’re working on.