The Middle Ages: Louboutin vs. Degeneres

Foot for Thought:

I was watching wizard shoe designer Christian Louboutin being interviewed on TV.
He spoke of women’s shoes as a symbol of body image offering self-esteem as high as his stilettos.
 
“Torture,” you say, followed by the familiar refrain “Comfort.” 

Louboutin explained shoes are not always about comfort. His shoes are not made to run in.

I have to agree. They are (at an average price of $850) little works of art, like DaVinci flying machines with red soles.

So now I have this sinking feeling. Sinking as in going from the 5-inch heels of my youth to flats in the Middle Ages.
 
“Hi my name is Marla and I used to wear high heels.”

“Hi Marla.”

Time was I waitressed in 4-inch wooden platform sandals, danced in 5-inch suede wedges, got married in Pierre Cardin pumps, walked the dog on the black-iced streets of the Old Country in Westwood heels.

I am short.
Kill me...
I have dreams of reaching upper cabinets.


Three years ago I broke my foot when Huck was sniffing another dog’s butt and I fell off a curb...oh, I’d say, about four inches high. I started howling “ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow.” Then to the other dog’s owner I yelled, “stop staring at me!”

Husband Number Two said, “don’t get up.”

Of course, I got up, walked a block and realized I was never going to make it home. I was going to die on Beck Street!

Husband went home, got the car, and picked me up.

I won’t go into why I did not see a doctor.

On second thought, I will go into it. After the best sports medicine doctor in Southern California coupled with the best holistic healer in Santa Monica could not fix my broken baby finger correctly, which is permanently bent toward the Pacific, I had given up on doctors.

My sister-in-law the nurse told me to go and buy myself a pair of running/track shoes immediately. Tie em real tight and wear thick socks. Which I did. I went to Big 5 Sporting Goods on Ventura Place and bought my first pair of sensible shoes ever.

Husband Number Two laughed when he saw them on my feet. He called them my Ellen DeGeneres shoes. I looked like a freaking Viking walking in them!

I kept the Degeneres shoes in the closet the way some people keep wedding dresses. “Yes,” I looked at them collecting dust, “this is what I once became.”

They went into the dumpster when we moved.

Nowadays,  I scan Zappos. flats, flats, flats. Clarks, Vans, Propet. Under $100. Arch support would be nice. 

But I still have my one pair of heels. I wear them about as often as I wear a little black dress—Thanksgiving and birthdays. And here in the Middle Ages, I am alive and kicking Monsieur Louboutin.