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HIGH-HEELED HELL

Damn, do my feet hurt! I’ve been parading around today on the cutest pair of high-heeled shoes and now I’m paying for it. There is good reason why I don’t do this often. Although I love the look of a stiletto, ‘dem bad boys do not love me and my toes. I was fine when I first put them on, standing in front of a full-length mirror admiring the way they flattered my tight calves. Since it’s been a while, I started with baby steps on the carpet, then moved to the hardwood floors. I practiced keeping my legs straight and close together. Had my knees locked so tight you’d have needed a crowbar to pry them babies apart. I wasn’t but so shaky on those first few steps and when it got good to me, I strutted like I was walkin’ a Paris runway during Fashion Week.

By the first hour I was feeling just a little warm in my cute shoes. By the second hour that little warm had turned into some serious heat and before I could finish my lunch and get out the restaurant good, my dogs were on fire! Now, I can still remember when I use to wear high heels every day, standard corporate attire for my conservative desk job. I don’t ever remember wanting to amputate my feet so I could stand up straight and get my butt home. Today I would have severed the appendages myself for some relief.

I’ll try them again in a year or two. As soon as I forget the pain I was feeling today ‘cause there ain’t that much cute in the world to get me to put on another pair any time soon.

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