A Moment of Silence

My love affair with high heels started long before I actually slid my feet into a pair. As a young girl, I sat mesmerized watching my mom transform herself from a hard working mother of three into a goddess in long gowns, rhinestone jewelry, beaded bags and stiletto heels. I'm sure there's more than one black and white photo in the family album of me parading around in her heels with an ear-to-ear smile on my face. A rite of passage as a budding teenager was mom teaching me how to walk in heels. "Glide, glide, glide...walk from the hip, not from your knees," she coached. I was a quick and willing student.

I carried on the family tradition in fine form, acquiring heels the height of which made most women shudder. For years, I was more likely to stumble or trip in a pair of flats, rather than a pair of hot pink patent leather stilettos with 4" heels.

When I prepared to move to Tennessee and my new life at the Retreat Center, I didn't pack a single pair of heels, not even a sensible pump! I've spent the last two years in hiking boots, tennis shoes or sandals. So when the occasion arose where I needed to dress up, I had to buy new heels (what a sacrifice!) I purchased a classic pair in black with a wicked point and a mere 3" heel. The other pair, let's just say they are what fantasies are made of!

Today was a dress up day. I spent 5 hours at a local church standing at a table talking to passersby about the Retreat Center. So there I was in a tasteful dress, full makeup, hose and classic black heels. About 3 hours into the shift, I was overcome with a strange and unfamiliar sensation...my feet were hurting, no, throbbing! After only 3 hours? "What a lightweight," I thought to myself. I immediately found a chair in the high hope that the pain would cease.

My plan did not work. The longer I sat, the more aware I became of just how badly my feet hurt, how desperately I wanted to take off my classic black heels, which I was now cursing under my breath. Did I mention I was in church? To add insult to injury, not only were my feet screaming, but my knee was beginning to swell and that's when it hit me...

My days of wearing high heels are over. Yes, over as in I do not wish to torture myself in this way ever again.

Please join me in a moment of silence as I journey through yet another rite of passage in my life as a woman. I don't know whether to be sad or celebrate. I do know I need to find a good home for my collection. Maybe I'll find a drag queen who would appreciate a bequest of gently used, but flawless high heels!