Holy Heel

In my previous life, I was a heel wearer.  A pretty high high-heel wearer.  I could wear those suckers all day at work.  I could run down the hall to the copy machine or to catch a train.  I probably could have even worked out in them.  With no problems.  These days, my footwear of choice are either something resembling that of a senior citizen’s orthopedic or hush puppies.

Last year, DH and I went into NYC with friends of ours.  You cannot go into NYC looking like a shlump.  So, I went to TJ Maxx and bought myself the cutest high heels that I could find in my size.  And that I thought I could manage.

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My gorgeous niece, who happens to be an amazing and talented hair dresser wears shoes that are about 3 inches taller than this all day at work.  So I know she would just roll her eyes at me and say that these are nothing.  To her and many other 20-somethings they ARE nothing. To me, it’s like wearing a torture device that resembles that of a nail bed sticking into the balls of my feet.

We drove into the city.  I wore them starting from home and all through dinner.  At this point, I want to cry.  I am already a wobbling, limping idiot.  But I didn’t want to take them off for fear of not being able to get them on again.  When we were at dinner, I sat there with my legs crossed tightly because I was afraid to walk to the bathroom which happened to be upstairs.  When I finally realized I had to give in or REALLY embarrass myself, I stared at that staircase in fear.  As if I were going to be walking to my execution.  And when I just could not possibly hold it any longer, I looked like a drunk three-toed sloth.  Might I add, we were in a really trendy, pishy-poshy eating establishment whose clientele was young enough to be my children.  And I looked like a complete ass.

After we finished dinner, we decided to walk to the comedy club.  Why I agreed is beyond me.  I should have hailed a cab.  I was so desperate to NOT walk, that I would have thrown myself in front of one just to stop the pain.

Since then, I have tried to wear them on a night out again.  But the thought creates such anxiety I need a Xanax.  So I settle on my orthopedics.  What can I say?  I rock those orthos.  And my feet have thanked me time and time again.

Mo

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