Ladies, why do we kill ourselves trying to pull off fancy shoes that look fantastic but could double as terroristic torture devises?
I mean, those red heels might look killer with your butt-lifting black pants and boob-enhancing lacy tank, but there is absolutely nothing sexy about limping. If you can't sell those shoes with a power walk, there is absolutely no point in plunking down $79.95 for them.
And yet, if you're like me, you convince yourself in the store while you're trying them on that the little spot that's rubbing at your Achilles tendon will magically fix itself after you've walked around a bit. They just need to be broken in, that's all.
But it never works that way. Instead of your foot wearing down the leather to a perfect Cinderella fit, the leather wears down your foot creating a huge sore blister you can't ignore -- no matter how hard you try.
Every step is complete agony and you start to fantasize about slipping on a pair of orthopedics. But then you look down at those fabulous shoes and when you see how good they look and how good they make you feel emotionally, if not physically, you bite the bullet and somehow manage to climb that flight of stairs. Leaning heavily on the handrail, of course.
And when you get home, before taking your coat off, maybe even before you put your purse down, you rip those stinking shoes from your body -- in a slow and ginger motion as to not rip any more flesh off with them -- and the relief you feel as your bare foot hits the floor is so gratifying you let out a deep sigh. And at that moment, that sigh feels better than any orgasm possibly could.
Then you have a choice. You could be realistic and put those shoes exactly where they belong: in the trash. Or you could pretend you didn't just have the day from hell solely because of those shoes and place them lovingly back in your footwear repertoire. Just in case.
Yeah, just in case you get amnesia and forget that they started digesting your feet.
But as your feet heal, the sour memory of those shoes fades with it. And eventually you will be standing at your closet, wondering what to wear and those red heels will call out to you.
They did look perfect with black pants and that lacy top. Ooh! And they'd go great with that new red wrap sweater. Look! THEY'RE THE EXACT SAME SHADE! So amazing. ... They didn't hurt that bad, right?
And then the process starts all over again with the same end result. The shoes end up back in the closet instead of angrily hacked into bits and pureed in the garbage disposal where they belong.
So men, I tell you this: Lie. Tell us those shoes are the most fabulous things you've ever seen. (Yes, use the word "fabulous.") Gush about how good we look. Say things like "The shoes make the outfit." And when we secretly confide to you that our feet are killing us, don't tell us to throw them away because we never will. Sympathise. Offer foot rubs. (But don't worry, we won't accept because it would really hurt.)
Whatever you do, don't get angry. It won't solve anything. We won't change. And you might just end up with a heel in your eye. We are very protective about our footwear.
Because it's very possible those shoes will outlive you. Especially because we only wear them twice a year.