There is something about wearing heels that makes me feel so powerful.
I’m the kind of person who is happiest in a pair of FLAT flip-flops. I get sad around October because I know my flip-flop days are coming to a close because it’s starting to get cold. I hang on to those last days, praying it will get warmer – when I know it’s not going to.
A few days ago, I went out to meet some friends in midtown. I bought some new black heels that day and I was more-than-excited to wear them. This past summer, Charlie and I came up with this method of me wearing heels. He wears a messenger bag with my flip-flops in it, while I wear my heels. If my feet start to hurt, the heels get taken off and Charlie just opens his bag and gives me my comfortable shoes. It’s the greatest thing EVER.
Except when Charlie decides he doesn’t want to carry my flats one night.
This happened this past weekend, but I was stuck on wearing my new black heels. And they only got me to – three blocks. THREE BLOCKS before I was limping and making faces. I wasn’t even halfway to the subway station IN OUR NEIGHBORHOOD! I thought Charlie would run back three blocks to our apartment and come back wearing his bag just so I had piece-of-mind. But he didn’t. He told me I had to change my shoes. And I was pissed!
Today, I decided to wear a pair of heeled boots to work. I looked in the mirror this morning and told Charlie that I knew I looked good. And I knew for sure I did. Without even having to look at Charlie’s face, I knew what he was thinking.
So there I was at 8:55am coming out of the station on 48th Street and 6th Ave, running late, as usual. Something about the way I walk in heels gets people’s attention. And I swear I could feel people staring at me while I walked. In my mind I was thinking, “Yeah, people think I’m hot.” But I knew that at home, there was one guy thinking… “I know she’s in pain.”
And it wasn’t even 9am.