I wrote a post a little while back called Shoe Porn. That post got a lot of “likes’. I’m guessing there are many foot fetish people and just plain porn lovers out there, so they might have been disappointed after reading my entry. That’s ok, I got some traffic, and that’s always a good thing.
No, my issue is more about wearing the shoes I love. Just look at those babies. Beautiful, towering accessories for your feet. Shoes do more than just cover your piggies and guard you from the elements. Shoes decide your day.
How am I feeling? Do I need a “pick me up”? I know, I’ll put on my heels….
After 5 recent surgeries to my pigits (piggie digits) I am not able to put those lil suckers anywhere near my hooves. You’ve heard of your “dogs barking?” When I get anywhere near one of these beauties, I’ve actually overheard my dogs, aka pigits, growl. Yep, evil, low down depths of your sole (ha ha) growling. I try to fight them off, but they are relentless. They will fight to the death. It appears my days of taking a walk on the wild side are dwindling. I’ve tip toed around the issue long enough.
It’s a death really. I mourn the wonderful days when I towered about the “little people”, able to trot up stairs in my glorious stilts, gliding across any sub terrain with the greatest of ease. You know, heels actually do your legs a lot of good. Scaling a flight of steps builds those quads, and mine used to be pretty solid. Used to be 3 years ago.
I can still run up the steps, still cruise through all kinds of rough road. But sadly, not with the grace and flair that I’m used to.
I flat foot it around this town putting one foot in front of the other like nobody’s business. I put a smile on my face while slowly dying a fate worse than death inside. I make it sound traumatic and short of bordering pathetic because it is for me.
Yes, I have to listen to the naysayers, the “don’t you feel better in flats” little annoying comments from friends and family. I put up with it, but inside I die a slow stiletto death.
I’m hopeful, like in most aspects of my life. I hold on to that small glimmer of hope that one day I will again be able to slip my mangled, gimp feet into a beautiful pair of platform pumps and feel the earth rise to meet me. Because probably for the first time in my heel walking life, the earth rising to meet me will mean a direct face planting, resembling nothing short of a clown’s circus act at a second rate carnival. It won’t be pretty, that’s for sure. But it’ll be due to the fact that I’m back on my skyscraper loving foot gear once again and I’ll be ready to take on the day with a renewed sense of accomplishment and skill.
Who wants to be the first to sign the cast?