I’m pretty tall. I’m also fairly awkward. I’m a mediocre dancer, at best, and I tend to bump into things at lot. Especially when I read and walk at the same time.
I’m a thinker. Boys love me for my BRAINS. (One boy, in particular, really thinks my brain is the best.)
Anyways, I attended a very swanky event up in Austin a few weekends back. As I packed, I decided to bring along a pair of very fabulous and never used heels that were languishing on the top shelf of my closet.
I should mention right here that I never. NEVER. wear heels. At my wedding I wore flip flops. The boy who married me didn’t mind.
He wasn’t marrying me for my calf muscles, he was marrying me for my brain. And my infectious laugh. And my mad cooking skills.
Those heels went into my suitcase and I didn’t think any more of them until the morning of event day, when it occurred to me that I had nothing to wear that actually matched the fabulous heels. So I went shopping. This was its own kind of event, because I’m not much of a shopper, either. The “gatherer” gene did not get transmitted to me. I am a terrible girl-shopper. I do not enjoy browsing. It makes me crazy.
But for these heels, I shopped. Here in Texas, heels are a must to most swanky events. Every fabulous image you get in your head when you think “Texas” is right on. I didn’t want to be out of the loop, especially not with such fantastic heels waiting for me.
Later (much later) that day I actually put on the whole ensemble (I looked hot) and made my way out to my vehicle, to drive over to the event.
Within twenty steps, I knew I had made a big mistake. My calves were killing me, my pre-bunion was already making my whole foot scream in agony, my arthritic hip (that’s a total lie, my hips are ok) was threatening to pop straight out of socket, and my lower back was already starting to ache from the effort of standing straight as my insanely high heels shoved me ever-forward.
I switched to flats. The fabulous heels are still languishing in the back seat of my car, weeks later. I’ll probably donate them to charity. Hopefully some down-and-out lady will get more (ie: longer than two minutes) use out of them than I did.
Girl fail. Brain win.