Tuesday, March 04, 2008
An Open Letter To My High Heels
We had a good run, you and I. Well, not so much runs but definitely some memorable stiff-gaited walks. Oh sure, I'll still wear you to work now and again and to special events to keep up appearances; but after roughly 10 years together, I’m through with you. You're too high maintenance, too much drama.
I have weak calves.
As for you, Peep Toe, a shoe of form and not function, your triangle cutout falls right across my big toe, slicing into the skin and making walking painful if I have to do so for more than 10 minutes at a time. Rather than offering up a tantalizing flash of toe cleavage like your low-cut contemporaries, you put the inverse on display. Toe buds hang over the end of the shoe like extra long breasts spilling out over a too-small bikini top. (Have mercy!) You are veritable footwear hostage situation, offering liberation to the big toe and pointer toe, while holding the three other pigs for ransom. Well hear this, Peep Toes: I'm not paying anymore!
Remember when I was at that Snoop Dogg concert and there were not seats and you caused me so much pain that I had to go to the bathroom and pretend that I was going number 2 just so I would have a place to sit down for awhile? That's when I knew we couldn't go on like this. You’ve hurt me too bad. There are scars that will never go away. I'm over you.
And for the record, I was doing flats behind your back the whole time.
Just thought you should know,