Them stilletoes. The loves of my life. Preciously hoarded and stacked in neat little cardboard boxes, in my cupboards, in my drawers, in shoe cabinets, in the old sideboard now relegated to the balcony. I now wear only ballerinas or trainers. Maxing the footsteps without the help of a pedometer. Am actually able to run down stairs. Had forgotten the feeling. The only drawback? I suddenly feel like the five foot three inch pygmy I am, with the rest of the world towering over me. Stilletoes add height. And distribute weight. I am now short, stocky and short tempered.
There was something about wearing them high heels that gave me a sense of being feminine, and attractive and desirable. With them flats, I feel I should cut my hair at the local barbers and put on the husband’s striped shirts. But then, that isnt what I am aiming at. I take hope from these little girls fresh in college flitting all over the place in skin tight denims, and barely there tops, and ballerinas, looking like they might just blow away in the wind. No danger of that here, unless Grade A level tropical storm winds happen, even then, the tree next to me might just cling onto me for grounding. But they reassure me that flats look nice. They can look feminine, and they can look graceful. All I need to do is to ensure I dont clomp along with that ungainly gait which comes from being elephantine and closer to the earth.
And I know this is just a temporary sacrifice. My varicose veins in the making might thank me for it. I will get back on them the moment I have attained curvature rivalling Jessica Rabbits. No, no, will never be a Kate Moss, and the husband thanks the Lord for that. I have no illusions about self. As I once said, Nigella Lawson is my idol. Now if only I could cook more than tea and omelettes.
The silver lining on this stocky cloud? I can go shop for more ballerinas and slip ons and trainers. Dont have any trainers. My last pair was gifted in largesse to niece who was down and managed to misplace her shoes in transit. Lovely pair, pink Reebok. Now will go shoe shopping again. Summer sales anywhere, let me leaf through the newspapers. Charles and Keith, Catwalk, Mochi, Voir and Blay, Nike, Reebok, Puma, strange names I never ever looked at before, I stand ready to explore what you have to offer me. Now if only I could get a babysitter for the brat. The bliss, the bliss.