I...am 5'2" tall. Yep. That's short. Not "need a car seat" short, but four inches taller than that (at least in the great state of NY). To combat this issue, and to also hopefully become the most awesome femme ever, I have taken to trying out this new phenomenon called:
The Stripper Shoe.
Let me please also state here that I have weird sized feet. They can wear a girl's size 5 shoe, but sometimes they're a woman's size 6.5...and every now and then a solid 7. Heels are an interesting concept. Gravity works. My foot wants to slip down. A size 6.5 makes this impossible, but also breaks all of my toes after about ten minutes. A size 7 feels loose in the heel. Now what?
Well, we go with a size 7. Because the goal is not to break anything. This includes toes.
I buy a pair. I take them home. I slip them on. I am now as tall as my six foot tall bass player. This confuses him. I feel sexy, tall and like wonder woman! Bring it, world! I am WOMAN!
After five minutes, I can sorta walk. It's weird and like a deer on ice, just with less falling. More overall wobbling, though.
After ten minutes, I can strut.
12 minutes: Look! I'm standing on one leg!
15 minutes: Doing dishes sucks. The counter is now too low. I feel bad for tall people.
17 minutes: I can't feel my toes.
18 minutes: Foot sweat kicks in, which gives my foot a special gripping power on my shoe! This works in our favor, as we have less shoe loss overall.
20 minutes: What do these go with? You know, without making me look like a stripper?
25 minutes: Nothing. These shoes are pointless. I lack the clothing and occasion necessary to wear these things.
27 minutes: Bass Player does not understand what is going on. Looks at shoes. Following conversation happens:
"Why are you doing this to yourself?" He asks, with genuine concern.
"I wanna be a girl!"
Shakes head. "Heels do not a woman make. In fact, they bring out the worst in women. They look uncomfortable and make you way taller than you are. You're not fooling anyone. My brain already knows you're short,"
"But not anymore!"
"It's like...a foot lie. Why do women feel the need to hide everything from us?! Like push-up bras!"
Now it's my turn to shake my head. Because this makes more sense than feeling grateful for having a man who thinks I'm sexy without the suffering . . .
32 minutes: These shoes are not for standing. They are for sitting. I'm gonna sit. On the couch. I'm right. They look much awesome-r when I don't have to stand in them.
40 minutes: Time to try the stairs!
43 minutes: Nope. Nope, it's definitely not.
47 minutes: Ponder, could I wear these through an entire four hour show?
48 minutes: nope. Nope, definitely not.
54 minutes: Foot sweat becomes Swamp Foot. Decidedly less hot, and now my feet each feel as if they have their very own slip-and-slides.
60 minutes: Take off the shoes. They feel like imminent death.
This happens like, four times a day. So far, the shoes have not left my house, but they've probably logged a solid mile and a half.
You know, because they're "Sitting Shoes".
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