Barf is a really great word

At 2:00, I had to get out of the house. I printed off my proposal, which I still haven't handed in (!) and went to the Village to read it over a cup of coffee. I thought the change of scenery might shed some light on the stuck parts, which it did. By my second cup of coffee I had only got through the first 13 pages but I was feeling really ill so I left. I'm not sure if it was the coffee or the "barista" and all her half-fat-no-foam-peppermint-ginger-latte-shouting or the guy watching Celine Dion videos on his laptop or what, but I couldn't really stay in there much longer.

I crossed the street to try on a pair of ruby slipper-ish shoes I'd seen in a shop window earlier this week. I needed to get this weird idea that they were great shoes out of my head. As the cafe did to my writing, so my feet did to the shoes, that is, I got a new perspective on them. The old perspective was, as you know, what cute shoes! The new perspective was, these shoes make me look like a tramp in spite of my frumpy outfit, that's how trampy they are. I probably should have bought them there and then but, like most stilettos, I really couldn't walk in them for shit and I hated the heel because it was this light red plastic - is there anything barfier than that?

Maybe this?

Or, Lolabola might think, this?