shoes
Today I remember why I don’t wear high heels anymore.
I decided to spruce up my typical office attire today in an attempt to don something other than black, white or gray after some asinine remark from bossman jeff that I always come to work dressed like I’m going to a funeral. There should be two s’s in asinine.
So I went through my (color coded according to ROYGBIV) closet this morning and decided on this pretty iridescent violet stretchy top thing and even went full jewelry to add a little extra sparkle. Everything was going so well until I looked at my cubby full of pretty strappy stilettos and heard one of them cry “wear me!” because frankly I probably haven’t worn a pair of heels in months and am so happy that these ballet flats are in fashion now because my poor ex-ballerina feet just can’t take the torture anymore.
There’s something about a strappy stiletto though that makes you feel like you could drop kick some poor bastard in the nuts for gawking at you walking down the street and he’d probably still ask for your number. It’s like they somehow cram sexual power into that little heel and the only thing you have to pay for that added boost of confidence is every shred of comfort lying beneath your knees.
So, long story short, I’m sitting at my desk eating grapes that almost match the color of my shirt trying to figure out what that smell is before I realize I’m barefoot.
And just not that kind of girl anymore.