I bought a pair of lovely, sexy, high heeled boots last year. Wore them five times, and that is stretching, put them in the closet and forgot about them. Not that they are not comfortable, they are, while I'm sitting down with my legs nicely crossed over, or if I'm standing still and posing. No other shoes or boots fit me the way that these do. But there is one problem, they have high heels. You ask me what is the problem? Am I not a woman, and isn't this a problem that all women have but eventually get over it, get used to it, get thick skins (on their feet)?
Yes, but deary, I live in San Francisco, the town with the steepest streets in this corner of the galaxy. See proof below:
Filbert Street
(photo credits ICE rider- this is a far better shot than any I took!)
The first time I took my boots for a spin, I walked alone (what a fool!) to Trader Joe's. For a little shopping. There was no one to keep me from falling, no one to lean on, no one to help me balance. Downhill was tough enough (my calves hurt later like I had the longest workout ever), but up the hill, with two shopping bags... the only thing I can say is that the way I walked uphill, and the speed I was walking, it wasn't looking all that sexy. Anyway, there were a few more attempts made several days later, clenching Terry's arm, yelling with teary annoyance to slow down. And Terry is never in any rush when walking, let me tell you, usually I'm the one giving him the speed up! pep talk. So, I decided to give up, for a while, or at least when we are on foot, which is most of the time. So my boots are sitting sadly in my closet, not on a wall of shame, but in a little pile of dust. And I feel guilty, horribly guilty and I promisse to be braver and to wear them more, but for now I'll just put them in a little spotlight right here:
A nice areal shot of the boots on our gorgeous Tibetan carpet.
I am a flats girl, who loves the heels and has the occasional attempt at owning a pair. But, my unwillingness to be taller than most people, my unwillingness to roll down instead of walk down Grant Avenue every day, and my unwillingness to unnecessarily exercise stops me from becoming a true believer.
Apparently one of the common deaths amongst women was getting burned to death, caused by their huge dresses getting caught on fire whilst they were standing near the fireplaces in their homes. So, the Rational Dress Society was formed and it described its purpose thus:
"The Rational Dress Society protests against the introduction of any fashion in dress that either deforms the figure, impedes the movements of the body, or in any way tends to injure the health. It protests against the wearing of tightly-fitting corsets; of high-heeled shoes; of heavily-weighted skirts, as rendering healthy exercise almost impossible; and of all tie down cloaks or other garments impeding on the movements of the arms. It protests against crinolines or crinolettes of any kind as ugly and deforming….[It] requires all to be dressed healthily, comfortably, and beautifully, to seek what conduces to birth, comfort and beauty in our dress as a duty to ourselves and each other."
I applaud their effort and can say that I fully agree, until, alas, I acquire these:
xoxoxo
