Why do we women always wear such ridiculous shoes? I mean, besides the fact that fashion magazines tell us to. Tonight, I am wearing my purple shoes that I bought for Jen(nie)’s wedding. They’re about seventeen inches tall, totally adorable and they make my feet feel like they’re on fucking fire.
Kristian always appreciates my shoes while I’m getting dressed… But he’s not such a fan when it comes to watching me teeter on them while walking to our final destination. I mean, cobbletones are pretty much the natural enemy of five inch stilletos. And the boy tends to prefer my ankles in an unbroken state. I would tend to agree with him.
And yet, here I am in my silly shoes.
Betch.
Well, actually, here I am in my fuzzy slippers after a night of teetering around on my impractical, but adorable shoes. I think that there’s a place on my feet for both comfortable and for cute shoes. Hopefully, a pair that’s both, but I harbor no illusions about any pair of heels (save for my naturalizers which I love with a passion that is probably somewhat unhealthy) being truly comfortable.
So, I go through most of life wearing comfortable shoes (but never ugly shoes, the girl’s gotta have some standards). And, when I want to feel extra spiffy, I put on my five inch, purple, Jessica Simpson stilettos (the girl might be a bimbo, but she makes some damn fine shoes). And I let Kristian hold my hand while walking over uneven surfaces and up and down stairs.
Betch.
Two words: Cole Haan. Yes, they are ridiculously expensive, but they have NIKE AIR. All heels should be made like that. They’re worth every penny.
OMFG, I bought a pair of Cole Haans, and they are fabulous. The Nike Air makes it feel like you are walking on clouds…sexy, sexy clouds. I completely second what Lisa said, they are worth every penny!
My husband enjoys my “fuck-me” heels for five minutes while I’m getting dressed. Then, for the next 2 or 3 hours, he rolls his eyes as I cautiously and slowly walk through Old City (the only decent bar district in Philly) and eye stairs with blatant apprehension. By the 4th hour, he’s enjoying them again because I’m falling all over my goddamn self in a drunken stupor, and that’s always funny to drunk people. When we’re on our way home, he’s back to being annoyed because he’s usually carrying me cuz I refuse to walk through Philly barefoot.
When I got pregnant, he FORBADE me from wearing heels, as my innate clumsiness combined with 3 or 4 inch stilettos gave him terrifying visions of my falling flat on my belly and hurting the baby.
So long story slightly less long, I feel ya.
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