Maybe it is because I am older. Maybe it is because I am slowly developing a feminist perspective, or maybe it is because I have a 15 block walk from Bart stop to office. Either way this mama is going practical. I am trading in my sexy, strappy, stilettos for comfort. My poor feet just cannot take it anymore.
I am just over it.
Mind you, I did try. Day after day I would put on a pair of high-fashion, leg slimming heels and head out the front door. About half way to the office I would inevitably find that I was cursing myself. My feet would be blistered and sore and I could barely move at a snails pace. Men in comfortable loafers would breeze past me with ease. My ankle would turn and cause me to stumble and spill my coffee every few blocks. Sometimes I even contemplated removing the offending garments and going barefoot.
Why? Why do I put myself through this torture? I look at all of the silly women around me, skinny spindly legs balanced on ridiculously high stilettos, the waifs walking gingerly as if one stiff wind might blow them over entirely. Overweight women with feet squished into "fashionable" shoes, looking as though all circulation may be cut off to their limbs momentarily.
Am I one of these morons?
Not anymore. Nope. This mama has learned that time is money. I want to walk just as fast as Joe Business Man in his comfy shoes. I do not have an extra 15 minutes to hobble through San Francisco each morning. Lucky for me their is a shop one block from my BART station that sells sensible shoes. Tuesday I got off the subway and decided that I could not take another step in my Nine West ankle boots. I walked in, eyed a pair of cute Clarks slapped my credit card down and didn't look back. The clerk let me donate my instruments of torture to a homeless shelter.
Call me old. Call me a stick in the mud, but call me comfortable....