My toe has healed well since my post about my toe injury. Ever since, I’ve been eager to get back in the ‘game’. Away with sandals and socks and in with high-heeled shoes. I have to admit that I have never been into heels at all. I’m a loafers chic and perhaps an occasional platform girl if no one I know is looking. But after the ordeal of wearing sandals in winter, I decided to go into the depth of my suitcase and get out my black high heels. I was flying to London for a meeting and I figured that this was a great start to my new lease on shoes.
While on the endless boarding queue, I realized that I had made a huge mistake. My calves hurt like hell and my toe was reopening at the seams.
Fortunately, I was alone on my row on the plane so I did the unthinkable and took off my shoes. Pure bliss, I tell you- to the extent that I fell asleep, overcome by the comfort of breathing feet. The landing announcement came as an irritation; I had to wear my shoes again. I did so and got off the plane. One. Step. At. A. Time. I walked through the airport and stopped at the cash machine. As I waited on yet another queue, I began to count in my head to deflect my mind from the pain that I could feel escalating to agony. The counting technique works for stomach aches too by the way. As I got to 46, the lady in front of me was now using the machine. I shifted my gaze to the woman in the Travelex booth. I tried to make out what she was saying, her gestures were confusing. I wondered if she was singing. I couldn’t see any earphones in her ear and no loud music was coming from the booth. ‘Oh dear, she must be talking to herself,’ I concluded. Her legs were hulled up on the table. She had no shoes on. ‘That’s the life,’ I found myself thinking. My thoughts were followed by a rude reminder of the anguish in my shoes. I wondered how some women did it. How could they wear sky-high shoes all day? I must be missing a trick.
I finally cashed my money and limped to the taxi stand. I must have cut in front of a couple who were there before me but when I returned their accusing look with a serial killer look, they looked away. In the taxi, I started to reminisce about my sandals-wearing days. Those were the days. Feet breathing, free living. I missed my sandals. I smiled at the thought of those white socks and the look on mothers’ faces at school pick up. Give me sandals and I promise never to complain about what people think again.
Once in my hotel room, I threw those devils off and got in the bath, patting my feet as I let the hot water soothe them. Now, I’m grateful for all the sandals I have and I may gather them round when I get home. This calls for a group apology.