Shoes, I guess?
I like shoes. Not the extent that is apparently typical to women according to the very popular stereotype, but I do enjoy a nice pair.
I mostly cannot walk in the shoes that draw my eyes most often (and am unwilling to learn just to mess up my ankles after mastering the skill), so I have to get my kicks elsewhere. Usually they come from the sound my shoes make as I walk. The very best sounds come from the opposite ends of the spectrum; silence and very distinct clicking.
There's an inexplicable thrill in walking through a silent Finnish summer night, not making a sound myself, or just along the pavement in the morning rush; pretty much anywhere outside. It feels just a bit unreal, like I'm not really there, or maybe other people aren't.
There is a disadvantage to this, too, one that I’ve only noticed on the narrow pavements near my work place; people can’t hear me coming. Most people seem to be very drawn to the middle of the pavement, and with the street on one side and a fence on the other, there’s no easy way to pass them (I walk fast and get frustrated when prevented from doing that).
So when I get stuck behind someone, I’ve taken to purposefully scraping my shoes for a step of two. The reaction is almost universal: the person looks over their shoulder, clearly surprised to see me there, and moves to the side to let me pass.
On the other end of the spectrum is the clicking of heels. I can’t walk in very narrow heels but fortunately you don’t have to be wearing stilettos for the proper sound. I cannot explain it, but there’s just something incredibly liberating about walking down a corridor at work or an aisle in shop and hearing that rhythmic clicking sound. And making sure other people hear it, too. It always makes me pull myself to my full height and move my hips that one bit extra.
Over the Christmas break, we visited my mother in the care home she’s been living in for several years now. It had been six months since my previous visit but another resident hailed us down to say hello. He said he wouldn’t have recognized us (people in the home are mostly ones with cognitive problems) but for the clicking of my heels!
This post brought to you by my apparent random need to talk about the most inane topics imaginable.
Originally posted at Dreamwidth. You can also comment there using OpenID.
I mostly cannot walk in the shoes that draw my eyes most often (and am unwilling to learn just to mess up my ankles after mastering the skill), so I have to get my kicks elsewhere. Usually they come from the sound my shoes make as I walk. The very best sounds come from the opposite ends of the spectrum; silence and very distinct clicking.
There's an inexplicable thrill in walking through a silent Finnish summer night, not making a sound myself, or just along the pavement in the morning rush; pretty much anywhere outside. It feels just a bit unreal, like I'm not really there, or maybe other people aren't.
There is a disadvantage to this, too, one that I’ve only noticed on the narrow pavements near my work place; people can’t hear me coming. Most people seem to be very drawn to the middle of the pavement, and with the street on one side and a fence on the other, there’s no easy way to pass them (I walk fast and get frustrated when prevented from doing that).
So when I get stuck behind someone, I’ve taken to purposefully scraping my shoes for a step of two. The reaction is almost universal: the person looks over their shoulder, clearly surprised to see me there, and moves to the side to let me pass.
On the other end of the spectrum is the clicking of heels. I can’t walk in very narrow heels but fortunately you don’t have to be wearing stilettos for the proper sound. I cannot explain it, but there’s just something incredibly liberating about walking down a corridor at work or an aisle in shop and hearing that rhythmic clicking sound. And making sure other people hear it, too. It always makes me pull myself to my full height and move my hips that one bit extra.
Over the Christmas break, we visited my mother in the care home she’s been living in for several years now. It had been six months since my previous visit but another resident hailed us down to say hello. He said he wouldn’t have recognized us (people in the home are mostly ones with cognitive problems) but for the clicking of my heels!
This post brought to you by my apparent random need to talk about the most inane topics imaginable.
Originally posted at Dreamwidth. You can also comment there using OpenID.