Sobbing For Stilettos

By Windy Lynn Harris

I was limping around for days. Nothing serious, but I was in enough pain to visit a podiatrist for the very first time. She was a robust lady with kind eyes and a comforting voice. Unfortunately, she was also one of those honest types, pointing out how lucky I’ve been not to have had much foot trouble for a woman “my age” (insert knife in chest).

My arches were aching and I wasn’t able to wear anything but tennis shoes without pain. Tennis shoes are for the gym, in my opinion, and I was having trouble coming up with cute outfits to go with them. My doctor nodded like she understood and got on with the examination.

She made me walk barefoot so she could see my feet as they touched the floor in motion. She asked me to jump up and down a few times. And she had me sit down to flex my toes. After poking my feet and twisting my ankles around, the doctor declared my foot issue in medical terms. I didn’t understand a word of it.

She saw my blank look and filled me in with her soothing woman-to-woman voice. “You need to stop wearing high heels,” she said. “You can repair some of the damage now by choosing sensible shoes.”

My eye twitched.

Did she just say what I thought she just said? No, it couldn’t be. I rewound her words in my head and hit “play.”

“You will be wearing ugly shoes for the rest of your life,” I heard.

Eeeeek!! I tried to rewind again.

“Get used to those orthopedic sandals your grandma used to wear,” the voice said.

Arrrrrgh! Again!

“You are becoming a frumpy old woman who never has any fun.”

I stopped playing the torturous messages and sighed. My shoulders sagged. I put my face in my hands. It was over.

My podiatrist patted me on the shoulder, like it was a common thing to see a patient cry in her office. She was accustomed to giving dreadful news. “There, there,” she said. “It’s not so bad.”

I looked at her with bewilderment. Didn’t she know that my new wrap dress went perfectly with those black stilettos I bought in New York last month? Didn’t she realize that I bought all my jeans long enough to wear high heels? Didn’t she know that both of my favorite boots were four inches high and it was almost time to drag them out of storage?

No, I decided. This podiatrist lived in a world where footwear was meant to protect and cradle your feet. This very nice lady was wearing shoes obviously picked out for durability and support. How could she understand my need to have pretty ones? With sassy little bows or pointy toes?

“Have you seen the new designer line of comfort shoes at Nordstrom?” she asked.

I perked up.

“They have really modern styles,” she added.

Did she say? It was too much to hope for…

Rewind.

“There is hope,” I heard the voice say.

Rewind again.

“You can find shoes that are good for you feet and look great too,” it said.

And again.

“You are going to be all right.”

I breathed in and relaxed, finally able to thank my new doctor sincerely. I paid my bill at the appointment desk on the way out. I noticed the receptionist had on an adorable pair of black patent leather wedges. I asked her where she got them, then got in my car and drove straight to the mall, smiling all the way.

About the Author:  Windy Lynn Harris

Through her short stories and essays, freelance writer Windy Lynn Harris shares her honest and hilarious struggle for sanity in the modern world. Along with a weekly entertainment column in Nights and Weekends Magazine, Windy is currently finishing her first novel while her big lazy dog keeps her feet warm. Visit her website at www.windylynnharris.com to see what she's up to next.