Samantha is more coordinated in high heels than I am.
While most women discard their heels at the front door when they come home from work, Samantha quickly searches for her “princess shoes”. We hear her clicking throughout the house, making her two-year old legs look ever-so elegant in whatever she’s wearing: a pretty dress, her sister’s Spider Man t-shirt, a loaded pair of diapers.
She even dances in her heels. In fact, she doesn’t want to dance without them. She’s a true woman. But while she dresses like a woman-to-be, she still hops around like a two-year old.
Yesterday, this true woman stomped on my foot while wearing said heels. If you’ve ever been stepped upon by a woman wearing heels, you know it hurts like an SOB -- even when the woman falls short of actual womanhood by 16 years and only weighs 30 pounds.
It just didn’t occur to me to protect my feet while I was sitting in the bathroom, uh, “minding my own business” so-to-speak. But as usual, Samantha wanted to join me, and I just can’t resist that face -- those big, brown eyes and those sweet lips that smell like strawberries due to her budding addiction to strawberry-flavored lip balm.
So, when she knocked on the door and said, “Can I come in too, Mommy?”, I moved my legs to the side of the toilet and opened the door so she could squeeze into our teeny-tiny bathroom. Our bathroom is such that I’m in constant fear of bumping into something. One person is uncomfortable. Two is claustrophobic.
But that didn’t stop Samantha from enjoying one of her favorite activities: hopping. Yes, even though our bathroom is so small you have to be careful not to knock your elbows into the wall when toweling off, she still hopped. She hopped from me to the bathtub in one hop. Then she hopped and turned in midair to face me (which was quite impressive in heels, I must say). Then she hopped back -- landing square on the delicate bones of my foot and producing a diamond-shaped bruise. And when I say diamond, I mean a Leona Helmsley-sized diamond.
I couldn’t do anything or go anywhere because, like I said, I was minding my business. I was not exactly in a position to call for help, so I just yelled, doubled-over, and grabbed my foot.
Since I was pretty much stuck there for the duration, I had plenty of time to renew my hatred for high-heeled shoes. We’re not friends. I’ve successfully avoided them for years. I scowl, I tsk, I shake my head when I see a pair walk by. They’re woman-haters. Foot-destroyers. And Lucy Liu is probably the only woman who could possibly defend herself while wearing them. (As you can see, comfort and the relatively rare opportunity for self-defense is important to me.)
High heels are only good for two things: making short people feel taller, and for sex. Yes, sex. The elongated legs. The lifted rear-end. The way a foot appears while wearing a strappy pair of black heels. I get it -- it’s sexy. But to wear them for the sheer enjoyment of it? That never occurred to me. Not for height, not for sex, but because you like them? That’s crazy!
But there Samantha stood, standing next to me in her pink heels, looking very concerned, very sorry, and very... pretty. I couldn’t be angry with her. She’s the girl who reminds Daddy not to pick her up when his back hurts. She’s the one who notices I’m wearing new earrings and tells me I look beautiful in them. She’s the one who offers me pieces of her cookie without asking.
Then it dawned on me: Samantha is beautiful and so are her pretty pink heels. She is a princess, and it’s only natural for her to wear princess shoes. And if I remember correctly, didn't I see a really fluffy, sparkly pair at Toys R' Us...?
But princess or not, I have to resist the urge to recoil, hide my feet, or throw my arms down in self-defense whenever she walks towards me while wearing them. Which makes me wonder -- maybe heels are good for self defense and I could learn a thing or two from Lucy Liu. I mean, of course I could learn a thing or two from Lucy Liu...
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