Wearing high heels is like drinking until you throw up.
There are many reasons you do it: peer pressure, an attempt to fit in, maybe you just think you like doing it… but it always ends the same, face down in the toilet swearing to yourself you’ll never, ever do this again.
And then a little bit of time passes… the headache goes away and the nausea subsides and you can eat normal food again. And a bit more time passes and you sort of forget how bad it was. And then you find yourself toying with the idea of doing it again.
Only to end up remembering – when it’s far too late – exactly why it is you promised yourself last time you were never going to do it again.
Wearing heels is like that.
There’s the pressure to be ‘fashionable’, or maybe to add height, or you just like the ‘click-clack’ sound of walking on linoleum flooring in them.
The day wears on, and you’re walking a little slower, a little more gingerly. And soon you realize your little toe has that really painful blister forming on it, and you have to
run hobble to the first aid kit to get a bandage.
By half-past lunch you’re cursing whoever made these shoes and wondering what possessed you put them on that morning, and why on earth didn’t you think to bring a simple pair of flats to change into after that big meeting?
And yet what happens? You go home, and kick them off and oooohh it feels so good, and maybe you give yourself a foot bath and drink a glass of wine and even as you swear you’ll never wear them again, you find you’ve put those shoes back into your closet… where they’ll lie in wait, lurking for the next time you forget, and slip them on…
Tonight when I get home, these things are going in the ‘donate’ box for the local thrift store!