I’m a sucker for a good online window-shopping session. There’s something soothing about scrolling through endless images of stuff I don’t need but might convince myself I need in that exact moment. It’s a ritual, really. A self-care routine of “add to cart” followed by the sudden wave of reality crashing down.

So there I was, minding my own business, scrolling through the digital aisles, when BAM—there they were. The cutest little red house slippers, practically winking at me from the screen. They were the kind of slippers that say, “Hey, I’m cozy, I’m stylish, and I’m going to make you feel like royalty as you strut from the kitchen to the living room.” For a second, I was completely sold. I could see myself lounging around, slippers on, sipping coffee, maybe even doing a little slipper dance while making breakfast.

But then… a tiny voice in my head (or was it my inner Marie Kondo?) reminded me: You already own the cutest pink slippers. Ah, yes. The pink slippers. The ones that I never wear. Why? Because I like walking barefoot, feeling that cold, hard floor beneath my feet like I’m some sort of minimalist zen master. Those pink slippers sit there, pristine, gathering dust like a forgotten relic of good intentions.

And here I was, about to buy another pair. I mean, really, how many house slippers does one person who never wears house slippers need? What was my grand plan here? To rotate them like they’re accessories in my very chic, very imaginary, at-home runway show? Maybe I thought I’d be more of a “slippers person” if I had them in red instead of pink. Maybe red slippers would make me finally change my barefoot-loving ways, as if color alone could unlock some new version of myself. A version that actually wears the stuff she buys.

Who am I kidding? Even when I stay at someone else’s house, I rarely wear slippers. I’m that guest who shows up prepared with a bag full of essentials (including the slippers), only to never actually use half of them. The slippers stay packed, untouched, while I glide around their home barefoot, probably giving off a hippie vibe I didn’t intend.

But those red slippers… they were cute, weren’t they? There’s a strong argument for cute things, even if they go unused. They bring joy, I tell myself. But joy alone doesn’t justify a collection of barely-worn slippers. I’ll save the cart for another day, resisting the siren call of adorable footwear that will surely join the ranks of their pink counterparts in the land of forgotten closet accessories.

So. I did not buy the red slippers. But they will live rent-free in my mind for at least another week. And maybe—just maybe—I’ll remember to dust off the pink ones. Or not. My floors and my barefoot zen routine aren’t going anywhere.