Thursday, June 4, 2015

Farewell, F#%k Me Pumps

Ahhhh, how to quantify my love affair with high heels? 

I barely bust 5'3 without them. High heels have been very good to me. Standing taller. Looking thinner. Shoe envy from others. Always turned out in new ones. Fond memories of my first pair (faux snakeskin), the hundreds since, in all their various incarnations. Wedge, pumps, platform, spike, even kittens. Dating in them, working in them, dancing in them. Well, like all fiery affairs, time and circumstances have now forced us apart. That's right. Can't do high heels anymore.

The impetus is simple. I've had two heel mishaps in the last few months, the last resulting in a nasty, near bone-breaking experience on concrete. My left foot is currently sporting a large hematoma, but luckily no cast. Apparently, BC has taken any bit of physical grace I may have had. I feel unstable and hesitant, fragile and brittle. 

I went right down in a parking garage at a temp gig, thanks to low lighting and shitty sloped concrete. And my platform espadrilles, which my husband made me toss. He's had it with things that have any potential to harm me and is not shy about it. 

So, I am shopping today for sensible shoes, to go along with my just-acquired sensible job. It all just makes me feel old and used up. Maybe I can get a senior discount.