Breakups are hard to do, even with a pair of worn-out shoes.

With a faux leopard print design, these shoes were the most comfortable pair I ever owned. They were so comfy that I wore the soles out, something I had failed to notice until one stifling summer day on an asphalt driveway — “Ouch. Foot Hot.”

I resoled the shoes and wore them for another two years, which brings me to today. I’m getting that burning-driveway sensation again. I’m also getting a steady breeze through the shoe tip. I’m guessing it’s because of the hole. The heel isn’t fairing too well, either; its leopard spots faded revealing what appears to be a sturdy piece of cardboard.

The last time I went to the shoe repairman, he gingerly held my worn pair by their heels. Glasses tipped on his nose, he smirked and pinched the point of the shoe making the hole gap open like a fish breathing in water.

“Isn’t that cute?” I asked.

“What exactly do you want me to do with these?” he scowled.

“Uh, fix them?” I said. What else would one do with a cherished item?

He made a gesture toward the trashcan.

Some people have no sense of craftsmanship.

For me, it was love at first sight when I spotted my animal-spotted shoes. Several years ago, I stood among a throng of amped-up shoppers in the shoe aisle at a department store’s famous annual everything-is-dramatically-marked-down-so-act-aggressive sale. This was a first for my teenage daughter and me. We’d never been to the store’s bargain battle and we were giddy; not, however, because we longed to fight through the crowds, but for another, more personal, reason.

Shopping was a luxury for a family who was broke. Hard times had hit us right where it hurt most — everywhere.

Sure, there was the financial pain, but it was incomparable to the loss of security that came with it. The unknowing part of my life held the rest of my world hostage. I never knew what the next day would bring, so I held my breath on the day right in front of me. Such wasted oxygen, in retrospect, but clinching my lungs, or at least trying to, made me feel like I had control over something. I didn’t know what bills I could pay or what my future would be or how I’d come up with my children’s sports dues.

Back then, another pressure point was nagging at me, literally, in my feet — plantar fasciitis, an inflamed tissue across the bottom of the foot, requiring my purchase of expensive and ugly brown orthopedic shoes. I felt guilty plunking down what little money my family had so I wore those clunky, brown orthos down to their little expensive soles. To replace those puppies would cost serious cashola. That’s when my daughter Gilly saw a TV commercial about the department store’s big sale.

“Maybe they’d have some new and cuter orthos on sale for you,” Gilly said.

God love her. The day before, I’d received a check for a freelance writing assignment I’d forgotten about. I deposited the check into our account, though kept some cash with a promise to Gilly we’d spend only the cash we had for our first-ever department store mega sale. We arrived to the store an hour before it opened along with 1,0000 other eager shopping beavers. When the doors opened, people actually screamed.

“Mama, you hit the shoes and I’ll hit the dresses!” Gilly shouted.

The shoe department was overrun with shoppers. That’s when I saw a shoe rack with the leopard spotted pair. With an orthopedic cushion lift inside! And half off the regular price! I rushed to grab the shoes, but another woman went for them, too. She stepped on my foot as she shoved me out of the way. Ouch. Foot hurt.

“I have plantar fasciitis!” the woman yelled.

“So do I!” I yelled back.

Forget it, I said to myself. No shoe is worth this chaos. I wobbled through the store to find Gilly. My foot hurt so badly that I stopped mid-search and sat on a bench next to a man holding an armful of bags.

“Crazy, huh?” he asked. “Your first time?”

“Yeah, probably my last,” I said rubbing my foot.

“That’s what my wife and I said five years ago,” he chuckled.

Standing up, I was ready to find my girl and call it a day.

“Mama!” Gilly shouted, holding something in her hand.

As I got closer, my heart welled up the size of my shoe lifts.

She was holding the leopard shoes.

“I found these and thought of you!” she said excitedly. “Look! They have ortho lifts in them.”

We high-fived. And with that, I bought a new pair of seriously marked-down shoes, Gilly found a dress 75 percent off and we had money left to splurge on a coffee at the nearby bookstore.

Limping and laughing into the parking lot, I grabbed Gilly’s hand.

“Best crazy shopping adventure ever,” I said.

That’s why I keep my faux leopard ortho shoes with the worn soles. Some beat-up things are worth keeping.