These are NOT flattering shoes for 30(18) year olds; I don't care what you pair them with.
I decided to push the limits: I scrutinized my choices, and opted for a conservative shoe with a "sexy" heel: this Ariat Tambour:
Clunky, yes, but by God no velcro!
Turns out I couldn't walk in them. After St. Louis Oktoberfest, I hit a crack in the road and went tumbling. People, I do not get falling-down-drunk! Still, I'm honest with myself, and took time to reflect: Maybe I had done just that...you know, with the beer and the falling down and all. Had I? Maybe? How embarrassing!
In the following weeks, however, I twisted my ankle and nearly went down a few more times. A friend told me that she retired her Ariat's for the same reason: she fell in them. I closeted mine, and bought these Chaco's.
I have a new job now, where I have to dress a bit dressier than I did in my cubicle life. Comfy as they may be, those Chaco's do not look pretty with capri's or a skirt. I went back to cross-referencing The Doctor's List to Cute Shoes for Every Non-Winter Occasion. These grabbed me:
<--say in squeaky voice! The heel is a little tall, but they have high arches and soft soles—I love them!
Loved. I loved these shoes.
I owned them about 4 days before my first mishap. I marched confidently into the Verizon store with Clint one afternoon, and stepped on the edge of their cushy doormat. Here's a reenactment of what happened to my shoe:
That ain't right.
It spun on me! I grabbed the door for balance, causing the other shoe to also spin and leaving me hanging on the handle for dear life. A mental red flag went up, but I decided not to worry: it was just a freak accident. The very next day, however, while shopping with girlyfriends, I stepped on a crack in a sidewalk and went stumbling.
Could it be that I can't walk in these shoes either?! I just needed practice, that's all. I spent the next week scrutinizing every step. Crack in the sidewalk? Step over. Berry fell off a tree? Watch yourself. Sticks and pebbles and doormats and brick walks? Focus. Step lightly.
In my infinite wisdom, then, I opted to wear my Naot Treasures when I volunteered at my all-time-favorite event of the year: Artists Against AIDS. My Very Important Role was to hold the fishbowl at the door, and "suggest" that viewing the art of 200 local artists, enjoy free wine and gourmet foodies was worth $5:
I was Very Important from 6 to 7 p.m., and then had an hour's relief. I mingled with friends, tasted brie and paté, and then grabbed a cup-o-wine to take back with me for my 8-to-10 shift. Waltzing back like a princess I was, one minute on my feet, and the next, ka-PLOW!
(Here I am, only that's really Lady Gaga.)
A bump in the concrete sent me skidding across the floor and splashing my wine across the venue!
I gratefully accepted a hand while trying to get my Naot Treasures back into proper alignment on my feet.
Gracious! No, thank you, I don't need a chair; I'm so-so embarrassed. It's a good thing I'm wearing a day-glo lime green dress though, so that no one could possibly miss this. (Gosh, I hope my underpants didn't show.)I was mort.i.fied., but I jollied up with my buddy Silvia, and worked the door til closing. It was a splendid night!
When the show was over, the volunteers settled about, grabbing a bite, and waiting to find out how much we raised for our cause. I slipped outside to the little girl's porta-potty, and on the way back in to the building, stepped on an ant or something, and I kid you not:
My. god. Hide your children. The swearing, oh, the swearing I did! There are not enough secondary characters on the keyboard to express it! @#$%#$^&%*$*%*$%^((^&*^^#$^% shoes!
As luck would have it, one of the two gentlemen that rushed to help me had witnessed the first fall, and he offered to call me a cab.
Please note that "I'm not drunk because I keep spilling my wine when I fall down," isn't an argument that will convince someone to give you back your keys.
I mean...your shoes. That's right—that guy confiscated my SHOES!
Again, when trying to prove your sobriety, standing in a dark parking lot in your stockings and arguing "Give me back my shoes! I mean it, now!" doesn't exactly make you look like a voice of reason.
I switched it up to a stare-down...and lost. "Fine!" I swiped my shoes and mucked back into the building in my socks. Grumble-dy#@% #mucka$% fruckin#$% @4blerkinfritz!!! I got my freakin' shoes confiscated and I got no dang wine to show for it, cuz it's all over the floor. How re-barrassing!
In hindsight, I can hardly blame the guy: he did seem to recognize before I did that those shoes are the devil. They've been in the closet since that night, and they hiss at me every time I open the door because the light hurts their eyes.
THE POINT OF THIS POST...
...is that after all of that confessing, I have a Public Service Announcement for all of my HomeGirlz:
Look at these knees. I mean, this knee. Bruise from fall #1, gravel marks from #2. And proud as I am NOT of all of the tumbling, I am taking one for the team to tell you my humiliating story, just so I can witness to THIS one fact:
I never got a run in my stockings. Mesh fish-net stockings! You heard me, my
For the record, I was wearing HUE Micro Mesh stockings that night, and I challenge them to find a better spokesperson than I to testify to their durability.
Can you not imagine the marketing possibilities?!!
Well, time to sign off. I hope this has been the learning experience for you that it has for me. Oh, and and if more-coordinated women or men out there wear a size 8.5 in a (say) Naot Treasure, I can cut you a deal on a "Gently Used" pair.