Like most girls, there is a deeply rooted obsession within me for shoes! I have row upon row of them lined up on shelves in my bedroom, although more often than not in an attempt to take one pair off there is a chain reaction and a shoe-valanche occurs. I guess this comes with the territory though and so a small price to pay.
They are all colour’s of the rainbow and everything in between, accessorized with buttons, clips, glitter, bows and bling they really are a sight to behold. I’m renowned both in my workplace and among friends for having a particular attention to detail whereby I coordinate my shoes with whatever I’m wearing, and Saturday night was no exception.
We were heading out on the town for some overdue fun and frolicking and I wanted to look my best. So I donned a lovely sparkly gold top, dark blue skinny jeans and the most gorgeous pair of gold glittery shoes. I looked fab!
The downside – MY FEET WERE KILLING ME!!! All night we wandered from bar to bar before heading on to the club and each step was carefully placed so I didn’t wobble and end up face-planting myself. Once in the club, I danced the night away as any city-savvy girl should but by golly miss molly were the tootsies burning. It really is unfair how much effort and pain us women have to put into looking good for a night out, whereas the boys have comfy feet all the time!
By the time we decided to head on home, each step sent a searing pain from the hell right through to the tips of my toes and so the steps were even more carefully placed and slower than before. I don’t think I was too drunk, I didn’t feel it but just as we passed the entrance to another club en-route to the taxi rank I managed to launch myself in a super-hero style airborne fall, before landing face down, sprawled out across the pavement! Luckily, I’m pretty used to this so I didn’t hurt myself and instead have learned to bounce lol.
The other half, totally oblivious to me lying on the ground laughing to myself had carried on walking a few steps, all the while a passer by and a doorman from the club entrance I was passing came to my rescue in panicked shock (I think it scared them more than me!). They put me back in my upright position, in Cinderella style placed my shoes back on my sore and swollen feet and gallantly asked if I was hurt and needed any further help. All this happens, before D actually bothers to turn around and notice, and when he does he just chortles – charming! Does my nearest and dearest seriously not understand the torture I put myself through to look nice on his arm? If I wasn’t so in love with my footwear I’d be tempted to wear orthopeadic ones next time just to teach him a lesson.
So boys, please don’t underestimate the pain us girls go through that is often unnoticed, and if you really care about your girl a foot massage once in a while wouldn’t go amiss ;o)
fluffysparkly 