On standing tall..

New York is the best place to show-off your 3.5 inch heels. It is also the worst place to walk in them. When I used to venture out in my ambitious footwear, all I could focus on was faking some semblance of comfort on my face as I dragged one foot in front of another over an entire block of sloping sidewalk. I would promise myself then and there that I would never again let one stupid episode of Sex and the City give me holographic daydreams about my long long legs strutting on fifth avenue in  Manolos. (Not that I can afford to say the name "Manolo")

But alas, I still watch reruns of Sex and the City, and even though I ain't in New York no more, I still drool into my keyboard over shoes at endless.com. My move to a bigger place, and the packing it has caused has made me contemplate my life and the shoes in it. I've forced myself to see what hides behind my imagined long long legs– the fact that out of all the shoes that I have, I actually wear only 3 pairs. And all three pairs have heels that couldn't be closer to the ground if they buried themselves into it.

So, I have decided to let some ill-fated woman who will walk into a goodwill store some day and buy my tall shoes, deal with walking in them. But I still sort of love them and will draw two of them a watercolored good bye.