4 Inch Heels

Note: Those are not exactly my feet wearing those shoes...nor are those my legs on display.....not that I'd mind if they were, but figured I'd put the disclaimer in there.

I'm not a shoe person. Never really have been, if I get honest. I don't quite understand the women that seriously lose their heads over wardrobe accessories and toss out big bucks for the trivial.....but then I guess, if you happen to be one of those that does, then it's probably not so trivial. I will say shoes are growing on me. But the whole 50 million pair...um, yeah....I don't anticipate ever seeing that milestone. And since I am barefooted 99.9% of the time there really is no reason for me to be the proud owner of anything more than about 5 pair of any kind of shoes. Running, 2 pair of boots, dress, and casual. I tend to streamline alot...quite evident by the shoe rack in the closet. Or really...just the whole closet in general.

In a rare turn of events I really liked these shoes. Alot. Husband liked them as much as I did. His affinity for them was actually so great that he christened them with a name. We'll leave that one up to the imagination. But this post is not about these specific shoes but rather the entire 4 inch heel phenomenon to begin with and the outrageous lengths women go to in order to wear these height enhancement alterations. And when I say height enhancement I am not even remotely joking. Given the fact I stand at 5'7 and husband a shorter 5'4 I really have no need for height enhancement, as these jewels instantly grow me to a gargantuan 5'11 and send me towering more than half a foot over him. But his love is so great for these things that I wear them anyway...or shall I say, I attempt to wear them.

Being the lovers of spontaneity that we are he texts, "Got the last half off. Meet me at 7p at the station. Date night. I love you." Since I love the unexpected just as much as he does this thrilled me beyond words, made my heart skip a few beats, and sent little butterflies swirling into stomach. This sent me surfing through my little wardrobe and finding suitable eye candy for him. Of course this involved the shoes. Showered, smelling good, prettied up, babies bathed, shoes donned. Within mere minutes of the finished endeavors children came to admire....and then the inevitable comments that follow.

"Whoa mom!! You're tall!! Daddy's gonna come up to your belly button!!!"

"Mom!! You grew up so big!!! How much milk did you drink??!!"

"Mama, you look soooo pretty but why are you so big???"

"You can touch Superman!!"

"You grew up, mama!!! Yay!!"

So, with a little trepidation, a few inhibitions and feeling like I could lasso a few stars with great accuracy given the fact I was only a few feet from them I mustered great amounts of confidence from within and strode out the door...all while trying to look as graceful as a mortal female can on 6 ft stilts. Seeing as how I could now pluck people from the observatory of the Empire State building I am quite certain a fall would be fairly catastrophic and result in death. So, with an infant carrier, heavily laden with infant, in each hand I wobble, with great precariousness, out the door and to van. I can assure you that I am quite the epitome of grace at this point.

Van on empty I approach the only town that offers diesel...one that boasts a population of a whole 121 people, if that. Self consciously I venture from van and begin my 20.00 fill up, knowing fully that all the locals have absolutely nothing better to do than sit around with tobacco filled cheeks, spitting, talking of the weather....despite the fact the forecast states 110 with no change in sight, greet the locals that join them in their gossip, and stare everybody down that's a foreigner. In these parts it does not matter that I live a mere 12 miles down the deserted Texas highway. I've never seen them, I don't know them, so therefore might as well have "foreigner" tattooed on my forehead. After depositing a heart stopping 4.89 gallon gas into tank to a total of 20.00 I wobbly neared door. Hatted cowboy opened it from within for me to pass through. Just as I suspected, 25 loyal patrons sitting around the poorly air conditioned, hundred year old filling station fell silent. I felt 25 pair of eyes drop from the wind blown curls down to heeled shoes....trying to absorb the practicality..or lack thereof....of the 4 inch monsters. Boots seem to be the only thing people understand in this part of the world. And having been raised in boots and among the people of the world that wear nothing but this I understand this fact and the level of discomfort on my part was acute. In the silence and among the stares the overwhelming need to identify myself as one of them grew to desperation. But, the act of staying vertical was so taxing that I quickly discovered any and all small talk took brain function away from the critical act of balancing. So, I wisely remained quiet. But then...

75 year old retired rancher behind register in a brave effort to cut the awkward silence..."How're you doin' today ma'am?"

"I'm good. And you?"

"Aww....I'm pretty good myself. You from around these parts?"

"Yes sir. I'm from (naming town). Headed to town to meet my husband. Just needed some gas. Sittin on empty and that thing on empty doesn't make it very far. Kinda big."

"Yeah, it's big alright."

"Yes sir."

"Well, you sure are dressed up real nice." I should note here that I'm in jeans, a fitted screen printed tanktop, a belt and these shoes...with some jewelry here and there. Not anything over the top...'cept for the shoes.

I reply, still feeling more than a little self conscious, "Thank you. He's worth it."

"Those shoes you got on there sure are fancy."

The guys behind me snicker and finally I fess up, to the gas station dude no less...

"Yes sir. They certainly are. A little different than boots, for sure. Takes awhile to get the hang of it."

25 guys staring holes in my back now laugh outloud.

"You wear them much?"

My turn to laugh...."No sir. Definitely not. I'm not really a heels kinda girl. I like practical and these don't exactly fall into that category."

"Oh, I see. Well...they sure are mighty fine."

I smile wide, "Thank you. But they'd be finer if I could walk in them." Old man chuckles.

Same hatted farmer opens door once again for my exit, tips his hat and smiles, "G'day ma'am."

I say thanks and cautiously balance my way out over the cracked uneven pavement and across the deep ruts that weave through the rural gas pump area, still feeling refreakindiculous and still feeling the laser beam stares of all 25 locals. Finally I'd had enough of the ridiculousness, and reaching the half way point to vehicle slipped feet out of hilariously impractical footwear. I then proceeded to cover the remaining distance completely barefooted with shoes happily dangling from fingers. More hearty, good natured laughs from the milling farmers and ranchers that hung out on tailgates.

I throw a smile over my shoulder and state the painfully obvious, "It's not going so well."

One of the younger expert spitters of the bunch replies with a grin, "Aw, you'll get the hang of it soon enough. They look nice."

I drive the 22 miles left to town with my foot 4 inches closer to the gas petal. Not to be deterred, upon arrival stilts are once again rebuckled to feet. I emerge from van at station with my new goliathasized stature. It only took the realization that I now needed a megaphone to talk to husband to conclude that maybe 4 inch heels are just not happening for me....no matter the appeal they hold. And, in fact, are about one of the most, if not THE most, impractical, ridiculous, life threatening form of vanity one can inflict upon one's own self. So, once again, I slip off shoes, rummage through van and find suitable, more practical 2 inch heeled sandals...and make my descent from thin air and high altitude back down to at least kissing distance to my husband. And he remained a happy man given the fact I still towered 5 inches above him due to our 3 inch height difference and now more reasonable 2 inch heels. I think he's just in love with a taller girl simply because it places him rather strategically and he's quite content with that arrangement.

I'm too stubborn to give up completely on the heel thing....so I'm pretty sure time will pass, I'll forget just how my attempt at it went and strap them on again...and again be reminded within mere minutes why I've abandoned them every other time around. But, as of now, I have seriously concluded that I'm just way too much of a practical, down to earth....literally.... kinda girl to try and pull those behemoths off with any amount of grace and dignity.