These Boots Were Made For Fucking with the Nash Equilibrium
Women of Lehman Library, be ruled by me!
I know your pain. You are diminutive! I, your fellow Hermia, trapped in this cursed 5'2" frame, suffer with you. These things happen. The behemoths and yetis, they never notice us until they have tripped on our heads. The fashion industry has in its occasional wisdom offered us an antidote; the fearsome boot. For generations, our kind has been able to rise and parry with the big people. For this, we should all be grateful, and ignore the dim cries of objection emanating from the arches of our feet. We stomp with vigor across the land, and dare the world to ask, "You mean you were down there that whole time?" As they respect the boots, they come to tremble at the glory of the woman in them. Blessed be the boot!
But I beseech you, women; should you be, as I am, drawn to Lehman Library in the basement of Columbia University's School of International and Public Affairs, then be mindful of your acoustics. Lehman's floor is 75% carpet, 25% hard floor, and open cavernous space all around. Have mercy on your fellow underslept grad school denizens; mind the noise, walk on the carpet. When you absolutely must cross the hard floor, walk ever so slightly on your toes, dulling the violent blow of your stompy heel, and sparing all of us from your wearying refrain: Stomp stomp stomp stomp stomp stomp stomp. For after all, it's exams week; and for you repeat offenders, based on the "High Heel Shit List" being composed by some regular patrons, you may not live to see your exams if you keep it up. Godspeed!
Emily
I know your pain. You are diminutive! I, your fellow Hermia, trapped in this cursed 5'2" frame, suffer with you. These things happen. The behemoths and yetis, they never notice us until they have tripped on our heads. The fashion industry has in its occasional wisdom offered us an antidote; the fearsome boot. For generations, our kind has been able to rise and parry with the big people. For this, we should all be grateful, and ignore the dim cries of objection emanating from the arches of our feet. We stomp with vigor across the land, and dare the world to ask, "You mean you were down there that whole time?" As they respect the boots, they come to tremble at the glory of the woman in them. Blessed be the boot!
But I beseech you, women; should you be, as I am, drawn to Lehman Library in the basement of Columbia University's School of International and Public Affairs, then be mindful of your acoustics. Lehman's floor is 75% carpet, 25% hard floor, and open cavernous space all around. Have mercy on your fellow underslept grad school denizens; mind the noise, walk on the carpet. When you absolutely must cross the hard floor, walk ever so slightly on your toes, dulling the violent blow of your stompy heel, and sparing all of us from your wearying refrain: Stomp stomp stomp stomp stomp stomp stomp. For after all, it's exams week; and for you repeat offenders, based on the "High Heel Shit List" being composed by some regular patrons, you may not live to see your exams if you keep it up. Godspeed!
Emily