|I'm not a diva I'm not I'm not a diva|
Streamlined. Sexy. Arched. 5 inches. Ankled strapped. Sequined. Shiny. Platformed heeled. I want to love you. I really do. I want to channel Carrie on a New York street. I want my inner Kimora Lee to take over and strut her stuff. I want a mean shoe game or at least a slightly disgruntled one.
I am a jeans and tee shirt girl to the marrow. I rock comfort all day son!
In my dreams
I'm waiting for my Fairy Drag Queen to sprinkle some diva dust on my arches. I need it badly because as much as I want to, my feet ain't made for walking in these things.
True story. The hubby & I went away for our first Valentines Day weekend. I tried desperately to get all kinds of sexified for him for our dinner reservations at a Creole restaurant right near the hotel. My hair, flawless. My face, sparkling. My attire, hugging all the right curves. My shoes pointy toed black leather stiletto mules. In the store and standing for all of three minutes flossing in the try on mirror I was the shyt. Walking from our suite to the restaurant I was a wobbly mess. Ned the wino walked straighter than me.
I am not exaggerating when I tell you that my legs gave out, that my knees said, "where are our sneakers", and that I took several breaks holding on to my future hubby praying to Oprah that he would not laugh at me. The. Most. Embarrassing. Night. Ever!
I am not exaggerating when I tell you that in the cold February air with remnants of snow still on the ground I took those shoes off and walked my panty-hosed feet to the restaurant entrance. I am not kidding when I tell you that after putting the shoes back on to walk from the hostess stand to our table that I held on to people eating their meals as I walked by and fell...FELL...into my seat.
I am not exaggerating when I tell you that I nursed my glass of wine careful not to fill my bladder because God forbid I had to leave the table and put those awful shoes back on.
I have a closet full of shoes that I can only wear in my dreams. I swear on Beyonce's freakum dress I stay trying to pull off a pair of them. I do all kinds of squats and calf stretches to build up my leg muscles. It don't matter. My bestie says my feet aren't rough enough. She thinks I need a few callouses and bunions. How the hell am I supposed to do that?
I'm doomed to a life of wedges and kitten heels.
I'd like to take a moment to apologize to all the shoe fiends, Lanvins, Louboutins, and Choos of the world to the Chinese Laundry, Jessica Simpson, and Steve Maddens of the world. It's not you. It's me.
I'm scurred and I quit.
|Did I mention I wore sneakers up until 5 minutes before I said my wedding vows?|