An Open Letter To My 5-Inch Heels: You Kill My Feet But I Will Wear You Anyway
My beautiful go-to pair of 5-inch heels,
First off: F you. Don't get me wrong, despite how much I love you, you cause me undeniable pain. Sure, you may add 5 inches to my height, pushing me well over 6 feet, but the pain I suffer from you during the night, and the day after, is just suddenly not worth it anymore.
From the second I slip you on my feet, I immediately feel the need to throw back five shots. Hmm, I think I may have just discovered the reason I black out so much; I'm trying to numb the pain from my footwear. Wow, I think I just had an epiphany.
Well, after another long weekend of trucking around in you, my feet look worse than they did before I got a pedicure. The fact that you expose my toes, basically, just begs for them to be stomped on by the drunken idiots I apparently surround myself with.
Why are heels mandatory for certain nightlife establishments? I get it; they want their customers to look classy and elegant, but there's nothing elegant about me stumbling out of a taxi because I can't, for the life of me, maintain my balance. All this does is confuse the bouncer and make him think I am way more intoxicated than I actually am.
It's not as if he knows the pain and struggle of walking around in stilts, so the fact that he judges you upon your arrival is utter bullsh*t. Sir, I'm not even that intoxicated, it's just that Mr. Steve Madden decided to pass his time in jail by crafting ways to make women suffer.
Sure, I could probably opt for flats because I'm on the taller side, but then I would just look ridiculously out of place. Life is just so difficult, isn't it? We girls just seem like ridiculous people, don't we? But, hey, I'm going to blame society on this one.
Whose bright idea was it to even invent high heels anyway? And what drugs was this person on… because no sober person would ever, ever think this concept was a great idea. But, alas, it apparently was because, on any given night out, the majority of females are rocking this type of painful footwear.
I mean I guess walking in these shoes might be considered exercise because my calves are getting a solid three-hour-plus workout. And maybe if I wanted to give the hundreds of short guys in this city a chance, I should give my heels a break, but it doesn't really sound like it's my fault they're all 5'6″.
Maybe, next weekend, I will actually not put myself through this terrible agony because, at the end of the night, I'll only end up either barefoot or bleeding. But, in all honesty, I highly, highly doubt it.
So, black classic pumps, I'll leave this until Friday when we will meet once again and continue this painful cycle until the end of time.
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