Amy Sedaris
PAGE 4
Amy Sedaris attributes her modest capacity for guilt to the fact that she couldn't understand what the priest was saying in the Greek Orthodox church of her childhood. Although entertaining is the theme of her book I Like You, her New York City apartment kitchen doesn't have room for gadgets, so she indulges somewhat guiltily in packages of julienned carrots—for both herself and her pet rabbit.

Most of her guilt is reserved for the shoes she buys with every $600 paycheck for an appearance on the Late Show with David Letterman. "That's a lot of money for a pair of shoes," she says, "even though I'll wear them just stomping around on cobblestones."

She stores them, a bit fetishistically, in boxes stacked over her bed that she loves almost more than the shoes. "I can't believe when people rip open gift boxes," she says. "They're like gold to me. There's a girl on my floor who throws out her shoeboxes. She wears size 8. My feet are 5, and my boxes are small, so you can imagine the hyperventilation when I get hers." By the way, the shoes are rarely open-toe. "I've probably had three pedicures in my life," she says. "My brother says my toes look like lacquered corn chips."

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