Why do we do it? All in the name of looking good and wearing stylish things. I'm talking, of course, about that special kind of torture known as the stiletto heel.
About 18 months ago on a shopping trip I found the most gorgeous shoes. They were the last pair left and exactly my size and they were a sight to behold. Strappy black stilettos with just a little bit of a diamante feature (nothing too showy). Sure, they were a bit higher than what I normally wear (but compared with my standard Birkenstock footwear, what isn't?), but I figured they'd be great for a special occasion.
So for my birthday last year I decided to try them out. Well, I don't think I've ever been in so much pain. I literally thought that my toes were going to fall off.
Well, you'd think I'd have learned my lesson. I almost did. I threw those shoes right to the very back of the cupboard. I moved house and took a long hard look at them when I was packing, in two minds about whether to take them with me. I sighed and thought that maybe an occasion would arise where I wouldn't have to walk anywhere, and where most of the occasion was seated. Maybe they'd be alright.
So I'm sure you know where this is leading. Of course I wore those shoes again. In fact, they went so perfectly with the dress I was wearing to the wedding last weekend that I felt it would be a crime not to wear them.
And I'm sure that you've probably realised by now that this isn't a happy-ending kind of story. If you want one of those go find yourself a nice fairy-tale (although I actually find some of them a bit freaky...child eating witches?? But that's another story.)
Anyway, the morning of the wedding was very exciting. We had the lovely Brenda, who was the hair and make-up artist for the wedding party, staying with us (another long story) so she was up at the crack of dawn to head over and start making everyone glamorous. The accommodation was pretty cosy (translation: small, with not much privacy) so we were basically up at the same hour, having a good hearty breakfast, cups of tea, and I even fitted in a spa whilst getting ready.
The upshot of all this, is that by the time we had to leave, Ronene and I were primped and pampered to within an inch of our lives. Glossy straightened hair, flawless makeup, glamorous dresses, and, last but not least, those beautiful black stilettos.
We left with plenty of time to wander down to the corner where the courteousy bus was going to pick us up and take us out to the gorgeous resort where the wedding was being held. Well, our first mistake was not really checking exactly how far down the road the pick-up point was. Our second was thinking that hair would stay straight and glossy in the heat and humidity of Port Douglas. My third, and most damaging, mistake was to wear those damn shoes.
The skin was off the side of one toe by the time we hit the corner. I hobbled on bravely, whilst trying to keep up with Ronene who at least had the good sense to bring an umbrella (you can't have a rainforest without rain, I suppose).
Whilst still a good 300 metres away from where we needed to be, we saw the busses pulling in up ahead of us on the road. We saw a group of well dressed people board those busses. The first one pulled out and our hearts started to drop. The second bus started to indicate and contingency plans started to be discussed. Well, luckily someone spotted us out the back window (there are advantages to wearing a bright red dress) and asked the driver to wait.
There was nothing for it. The shoes had to come off and we had to make a run for it. By the time we reached the bus, my feet were dirty (and already killing me) from running through the mud, my makeup had dripped off my face, and my hair was back to its natural kinky state. I was also dripping with sweat and not feeling very glamorous at all! I know at most weddings at least a few girls (ok, usually me) ended up with their shoes off at the end of the night. But I think it was a new low for me to actually end up barefoot before even getting to the wedding!
Luckily the veritable boyscout Ronene was carrying bandaids and tissues, and I had my powder compact in my handbag. The airconditioned bus ride was a godsend, and a couple of glasses of iced water at the bar (yes, strange but true) had me nearly back to feeling like the glamour-puss I had been 45 minutes before. The hair, however, was irreparable so please try not to be too judgmental when viewing photos.
Well, after all those dramas (and spending the rest of the day with people saying "oh, so you're the girls who almost missed the bus") the rest of the day ran more-or-less smoothly. I managed to keep my shoes on for a couple more hours (they did come off after a few glasses of champers under the belt). I can tell you, though, I'm still suffering for my vanity. The warning at the top refers to the truly gross photo of my feet the next morning that you'll find below.
And before I hear back from all the Sunday's experts about how this could have been avoided. I did have a pair of party feet with me (guys, ask your sister/girlfriend/closest female friend), but as the sole of the shoes was fabric-covered, the damn things kept slipping out the sides and dropping on the floor behind me as I walked around!
Cheers,
Jacki (thank god for Band-Aid blister-blockers!)
p.s. This week I'm going shopping for a nice sensible pair of comfortable black formal shoes!!!
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