This morning was lacking something. Something really rather vital.
So, I got my kit on and trudged onwards to Tesco. But in getting my kit on, I had made a slight mistake. It wasn’t anything embarrassing, like putting my shirt on backwards or (as I did one memorable Sunday afternoon) putting my pants on inside out.
Muggins here decided to wear heels.
There is something empowering about wearing heels, I grant you that. Or at least, that’s how I feel. You stand a little straighter, you think twice about how you walk. For me, it means not slouching. It means being a little taller.
It also means that I can’t properly walk. Seriously.
The first rule of high heels (according to JE Boyd) is to never, EVER wear them when you go grocery shopping. You will look like a massive tit.
Why I did it, I don’t know. Actually, I do know. I have a lovely pair of strappy heels that I bought the day before I moved. I have yet to wear them out for longer than half an hour. I though I’d take them out for a test drive, not knowing that I would look like Bambi taking his first steps out onto the tarmac of the parking lot in front of our house.
I can’t wear high heels. No matter how much I perve over the Essex-style stilettos and pretty black killer heels, I can not wear them. My feet feel swollen afterwards and I just have no clue how to walk in them.
I so desperately want to be taught. I want to conquer walking in heels so I can wear nice things on my feet. I want my feet to be less of a fuss, so that I can fit in a pair of heels without blood seeping from the sides of my heels. I want to walk tall! Preferably in black and white polka dot vintage heels!
Oh, one could only wish to crack the mystery of high heels… How to walk in them without looking like an arse…