For the past week, my right foot has been in pain. I’m not going to the doctor, though. It only hurts when I walk, and it hurts a little less when I wear heels. Yeah, I walk to work every day in flats. OK, my boss drove me home today.
I’m not going to the doctor, because I know she’ll tell me to wear sensible shoes.
I realize that this is ridiculous. Still, it isn’t the dumbest shoe-related thing I’ve done.
This is: When I was in college, my roommate Greta showed me that my ATM card was actually a newfangled thing called a debit card, and that it could be used to buy clothes over the internet. This discovery led to some serious financial and sartorial irresponsibility.
I bought these, from what I now realize is a website for strippers:
When they finally came in the mail, I needed to wear them immediately, even though the heel was way taller and thinner than it had looked in the picture on the website, even though it was snowing, even though I was going to math class. I put them on and they were perfect. I felt like a dominatrix from outer space, which was exactly how I wanted to look when I was 19. The heels were so high that my foot was perpendicular to the floor. I’m not a graceful person, but I’m not a practical one either, so I grabbed my books and headed to class in my gorgeous new shoes.
I swear it took me half an hour to get there, even though my class was in a building right down the street. I hobbled down three flights of stairs, gripping the banister as my knees buckled, and limped through the snow. I arrived to class very late, which meant that the other students got to watch me as I scuttled to my seat. My feet were on FIRE.
After class, I trudged through the snow in fishnet stockings, carrying my new shoes by their silver-studded, patent-leather straps. I never wore them again.