Stories from my Sketchbook . . .
You know what I was thinking about most of yesterday? My feet. Seriously. I was thinking about how much of my life I must have spent dealing with tired, aching, sore feet. I mean—supposing it were even possible to calculate such a thing—what would that equate to in hours . . . days . . . months . . . years?
It’s not as if I were even wearing horribly uncomfortable shoes—they were, in fact, one of my oldest and most comfy pairs—but at some point yesterday I became suddenly aware that all I was thinking about (seriously—nothing else going on in my brain at all) was how I could not wait to get in my own front door and kick my shoes off ( . . . and my bra too actually but that’s probably TMI for this particular post . . . )
Sadly it seems, no matter how much I might wish otherwise, gone are the days when I could don my high heels at 7.00am, run around in them all day (literally), pop into the supermarket on the way home to do a bit of grocery shopping and still feel able to stand around and gossip with one of my neighbours for half an hour at the end of the day. These days I barely make it to lunchtime before I become increasingly aware (as my old dad used to say ) ‘my dogs are barking‘ . . .
But the thing is—I love my heels. I really do. I have always owned flat shoes of course (who doesn’t?) but no matter how cute they are, for me flats have always been for schleping around at home, or going to the movies (navigating all those steps in heels in the dark—I don’t think so), or walking the dogs. They’ve never been ‘proper’ shoes. Heels make me feel taller and slimmer and . . . dressed. That’s it I think. I have never considered myself properly dressed unless I’m wearing a fabulous pair of heels.
What to do, what to do? I know what you’re going to say—I should stop wearing my heels right now and give myself a break, right?
Well, I think we all know that’s not going to happen. (I mean, seriously?)
But I do think a compromise might be in order. I think I might just be able to convince myself to buy a couple (or three or four) more pairs of extra-cute flats that might nicely complement the heels I already have. Then I could wear my beloved heels for part of the day and surreptitiously swap them out for a similar (flatter) pair when I feel the need to give my aching tootsies a rest. What do you reckon?
Sounds like a fine plan to me . . .