High Times

So… I started wearing high heels.

Go ahead. Laugh. It’s fine.

I have to wear high heels in Liz’s wedding, so I have to spend about ten hours walking around in grass or dancing on linoleum in these 800-inch sky-high monstrosities. This has terrified me to the point where I’ve caved in and bought 3 pairs of heels, and I plan on wearing them as much as possible.

It’s not that I’ve ever had anything against high heels… they’ve just never seemed practical to me. They hurt to walk in and they’re seriously dangerous. You can easily topple over and sprain an ankle, they’ll eff up your feet if you wear them too much, and if the ground has any form of texture or slickness, you’re dead. Why would I put myself through that everyday*?

I’m a firm believer that if you are comfortable and confident and laid back, it’s a million times more attractive than spending your day tugging and teetering and sucking in and touching up various parts of your body. Who wants to watch that, and more importantly, who wants to live like that?

Plus, I’m a shortie. I’m 5’2. I haven’t been the tallest girl in the room since kindergarten, and I accepted this lifestyle years ago. I look up at people. I stand on chairs. I’m three inches away from the steering wheel in my car. Sometimes at concerts, boys pick me up so I can see. I sit Indian-style in chairs because my feet never touch the floor. I’ve mastered the art of using hangers, forks, and pencils as extended arms. I stand on my tippy-toes at least three times a day, so my calves are fabulous.

Ex used to do this hilarious impersonation of me trying to kiss him… he’d get down on his knees, fling up his arms, and hop up and down like a little kid, squealing “Kiss meeee!” like he was shrinking. My friends Stouty and Barker are both – and I am not making this up – 6 feet 10 inches tall, and every time they see me, they call me things like “Tiny” and “Little-Bit”**.

TSGoC is 6’6, so when we walked around together, we looked ridiculous. But I liked that. It made me feel cute and dainty and itty-bitty no matter what. When I went out to lunch with him and his dad, they demonstrated the “friendly giant syndrome”, where they’d lean towards me and hunch down, trying to get to my eye-level. Apparently, this is something that most tall people do… I had always just assumed that they were really interested in what I was saying. I tend to date tall boys, so this explains why I talk so much.

I’m not afraid of heights, per se… I don’t mind tall buildings or cliffs or whatever… but I am very uncomfortable when I’m this far away from the ground. It’s like the first time I had to drive a truck after years of driving compact cars. There’s this weird extra space there, and I feel like I’ve lost some control over the situation.

And I really hate drawing attention to myself. When you’re clickity-clacking around, people automatically look up and stare. It’s a lot easier to sneak by when you’re flip-flopping or pitter-pattering.

But I’m getting the hang of it. The day I bought them, I wore heels for everything: cleaning the apartment, going out to a movie, drinking with the neighbors… hell, by the end of the day I was so acclimated that I hopped on the elliptical trainer to do that “Mariah Carey on Cribs” bit for my friend. He laughed and I didn’t die… so I consider this new venture a success***.

And there are benefits, I guess. Today’s the first day I’ve worn them to work. I thought that everyone would give me shit, like they did when I started wearing a skirt everyday.

But instead, people just keep commenting that there’s something different about me. They ask me if I’ve lost weight, and they keep calling me Skinny. I am starting to understand. People seem to respect me a bit more. Plus, my feet actually touch the floor when I sit, so for the very first time I’m able to sit like a grown-up at my desk.

I haven’t fallen on my bum yet, but I imagine it will happen in front of the cute boys in the warehouse. Don’t worry, I’ll reenact this for you later in slow-motion with sound effects.

*And did you know that the amount of force a stiletto heel exerts on the ground is the exact same amount of force as an elephant’s foot? Now that’s attractive.

** FYI: if you call a girl this, she will automatically fall in love with you…unless you’re referring to her boobs (so I’ve heard).

***I also stood on a chair to hang my new graffiti-covered Abbey Road sign on the wall… wearing heels. I didn’t fall, but apparently you’re not supposed to do this ever. So don’t tell my mom.

1 Comment

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One response to “High Times

  1. RØB

    God, back when I started this job, I worked in the other building we have, and some idiot would flip-flop by my work area several times a day and it drove me BANANAS. The smack-plap-flip-flap-floop-slap-plack-flack of flip-flops going by is enough to drive any man into a marathon.

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