These Shoes Aren’t Made For Walking

It’s that time of year: the office holiday party! Since my office is the toy room, I rely on Hubby to take me as his date to this annual celebration. We get a babysitter (actually my mom because she is free), I get a fancy dress, and we get our holiday cheer on with his colleagues.

While there were no real holiday party antics, like people making photocopies of their butt, I did learn a few things:

1. Apparently bowties are in style. Who knew?
2. I fear I will never be able to bear children again after wearing Spanx and control top pantyhose all night. Ouch!
3. I have lost the ability to walk in high heeled shoes.

Everyone has a God given talent, and mine was my ability to saunter down the street in amazingly high stilettos.  I could make Ru Paul cry because of my grace while working those shoes. Sashay Shante! I was the girl that could run across town in killer heels and not stumble once.

Flats for this gal? Are you kidding me? For years I was a firm believer in the higher the shoes, the closer you are to God. I think I learned that in CCD.

In college I broke my foot on the first night of spring break in Mexico. Did that stop me? No way! I strapped that broken foot into the highest spike sandal I owned and rocked it through every club and cantina in Cancun. What does that mean? Well that means I was a friggin idiot. It also means that Monkey and Mimi will NEVER be allowed to go to Cancun on spring break unless they want their Mamma breaking up the par-tay. Finally it means that somehow having children has ruined my shoe strutting ability.

What happened? Is my equilibrium off? Did having children suddenly turn my feet into bricks? Shouldn’t wearing high heels be like riding a bike? When I strap a pair on, shouldn’t it all come back to me? Are there training wheels for high heels? Is that what wedges are for?

At a mere 5’5”, I sometimes feel like I am going to hit my head on the coffee table when I have to take off my shoes. The extra height wasn’t just a fashion statement but a necessity. How did this all go so wrong?

This weekend I was shaky on my heels from the first few steps. Then I had to ride the metro, hop on a few escalators, and finally walk a few blocks to the swanky hotel that was hosting the party.  I stumbled most of way and had my heel stuck in on one too many cracks in the sidewalk.  Then I added cocktails to the mix and I was a hot mess, but I had a super cute date that was willing to pick my sorry arse up every time I fell.

Luckily I don’t plan on wearing ridiculously high shoes until, ummmmm, his next holiday party. So I have time to practice. Until then it’s Converse and flip-flops for me. Don’t worry, Ru, I make these look good too.