Shoe musing

There are some women who are sleek. Tall, streamlined, with long, straight hair that shimmers. They smell nice. They look nice. They wear makeup and beautiful clothes that fit their slender frames perfectly. When they go to the ladies' room, they stop in front of the mirror to fluff and preen--and they should. They look good.

I, on the other hand, wash my hands and leave the room.

Waah.

If women were shoes, the sleek ones would be red high heeled spikes with a strap across the instep.

I'd be an orthopedic slip-on.

I could get depressed about this. (All right, I have gotten depressed about this.) Who wants to be an orthopedic shoe?

But then again...if you had a choice, what would you want to wear all day? A red spiked heel (that might pinch your toes, make your calves ache, give you corns and bunions and maybe Plantars Fascitis) or comfortable shoes that cushion your soles and give you plenty of support?

Yeah, one looks nice, but the other feels nice.

So I guess--all things considered--I'd rather be the orthopedic, feel good type. One that is supportive. Because eventually, all shoes get scuffed. Which ones do you feel worse about throwing away? The ones that pinched? Or the ones that made you feel good?

I think this is a premise that I explore in my books. My heroines are never spikes. They are more like all weather moccasins (which also have great support, by the way) who yearn to be spiky but just don't have what it takes. They are too comfortable, too kind, too...just too. Normal. Easy to be around. Not pretty, exactly, but more functional. And better, in the long run, for my hero. (Oh! That's a pun, of sorts. Not intentional, but...heh. Oddly enough, I'm trying to stop myself from comparing my heros with feet. Or...heels. Ar, ar, ar...)

Sometimes my heroines are those shoes you see by the side of the road. The fallen. Alone. Sort of squashed. But ready to rally, to find the other half of the pair and carry on.

Sometimes, they're running shoes. Athletic. Useful. And friendly. (Perhaps even inflatable. Or with little springs under them.)

Yes, you're right. This is a silly post. But it could be worse. I could be comparing women to horses.

Nay.