Tuesday, May 10, 2011


There comes a time when every woman must reveal her ammo. I realize that sounds cryptic so let me explain. When I was younger for the longest time I assumed my mom woke up looking like a million bucks. I always thought that “when I got big too!” I’d look just as great. I couldn’t see why not. Although, I always wondered who exactly made my mom so pretty but apparently they did a really good job so who was I to question?

Then at the age of thirteen I started to grow up and with that came the realization that being a woman is really an act. I wake up with less than fresh breath, my hair looks like a birds nest and my goodness does picking out an outfit take some serious calculations. But the real zinger here… are all the devices, contraptions or small itty bitty tiny things we can use to make ourselves look nothing like who we really are. You can push things up, down to the side and around. If you want cheek bones just add a touch of bronzer. No booty? There are pants for that! Too much booty? We can tame that! In need of longer legs? We can create the illusion that you have the legs of a giraffe!

What does this have to do with shoes? Well a lot. This past weekend I went on a mini-road trip and I ruined the illusion... I altered the concept of “lust” for one man. I’m sure he’ll tell his friends and men everywhere will gasp in shock. Or maybe this is an overreaction but… let’s pretend it’s not. Let’s pretend we live in a word where men have no idea what’s going on.
It all started when we went to the mall. We walked around for hours. By the time we left to go back to our hotel my feet were crying. As we slowly got ready and I mean slowly because I was limping around our hotel room I realized that I probably would NOT be able to walk to the restaurant. In fact I even requested that we take a cab back. So while I looked gorgeous to boot… I was limping. So there I was, this young twenty-something walking with a limp. So I grabbed his arm and tried to act like a lady. It didn’t work. So then I resorted to walking on the balls of my feet. Well that was more painful. Finally, I asked “would you mind if I walked bare foot?!” and that’s when it hit him. It’s painful walking in those things. (Note: I made it three city blocks before I complained.) His face said it all. He looked sorry for me. He looked less enthused… and to be very honest the illusion that I was this woman who pranced around effortlessly in my heels all day long while doing whatever it is he imagined was gone. And so he sighed with only a block to go and said… “Let’s take a cab.”

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