High Heels

                                                                   ^  The Reality, ouch!^ 

There are two words that strike the fear of Zeus in my heart. High Heels. Just the thought of them makes me break into a sweat that would put a junkie going cold turkey to shame. These towers of terror as I like to affectionately call them are just an accident waiting to happen, I thoroughly believe the inventor of heels must

a) Have been in a shit marriage and despised his wife or

b) Was screwed over big time by his ex or a string of women.

And so set about making a pair of shoes that would cause women to weep in pain with every step but be so beautiful they’d throw themselves at their alter, forever being bound into a love hate relationship with the pretty devils.

Its no accident most male shoe designers are gay!

Before you think I am some bra-burning feminist (taking into consideration my last post) I can assure you I am not.

You see, I can understand why women love shoes, I personally don’t, but then I have the same loving relationship with the handbag. Aah, my eyes are glazing over at the thought. It’s difficult to put into words the feeling I get when I see a fabulous bag, so I totally get that adoring aspect. But it’s the ridiculous 4-6 inch heels that baffle me; surely you cannot go out clubbing and have a good time with them, nor can I imagine it easy to concentrate on situations when the pain kicks in. Can you imagine trying to give a 1-2 hr presentation at work, weeks of preparation and notes could get buggered up because on the day you decided on your Laboutin skyscrapers and instead of facts, figures and statistics all you could think of is ‘My God I would happily shave my fanny with a blunt razor if someone would slide me a pair of ballet pumps.’

 Celebs attending a premiere or launch are just about the only ones who I think can get away with it, not because they look better than us, not in the slightest, but because they’re lucky enough to have what I call ‘car to bar luxury’ which means they get chauffeured to the venue, have special VIP seating, so no standing from dusk till dawn, and then get chauffeured back. So in reality there is actually very limited standing time. So they don’t suffer the indignity of having to find your night bus, have cut ,with bunions the size of golf balls.

 Why we ladies suffer for beauty is beyond me but I must dash now as I have a Brazilian booked for 2J