Men are like shoes.

I feel very Carrie Bradshaw-esque writing this, and knowing Sex and the City, she probably wrote something similar to this once upon a time.

But, I haven't seen that episode yet, and thus can positively state that I am not in any way attempting to plagiarise the show.

Anyway, men are like shoes.

Some are incredibly beautiful and make you feel like you look a million bucks, but after some time, you'll realise you're in a heck of a lot of pain and the heels are killing your back.

Others, on the other hand, are very comfortable, but don't go at all with the rest of your life. After all, you're a high-flying, classy sophisticate, and sneakers simply do not go with Diane von Furstenberg dresses.

And I guess I would write more had I the intellectual capacity and more importantly, the determination and discipline to work this analogy out all the way to the end, but I really just want to get to my punchline.

At the end of the day, no matter how beautiful the shoe looks, or how comfortable it feels, you just feel so much better, having taken them off and tossed them to one side.

Can you tell it's been one of those men-hating days?