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187878879As long as I can remember I’ve been a heels kind of girl.  The higher the better.  I like being tall, and a good wedge or pump only makes the view that much better.  I remember the first pair of pumps that my mother bought for me.  They were navy blue, rounded toe, with a brown stacked heel, probably about 2.5 to 3 inches in height.  Very classic. Very lady-like. We bought them at the Papagallo Store on Route 9 in Chestnut Hill. I loved going in there and fondling the shoes and bags, breathing in the rich aroma of leather and retail.  I loved those shoes.  I became a different person when I wore them; assured, confident, glamorous, mature. I was 15…

There was a girl in my class who was the epitome of cool. Every day she wore a pair of platform huaraches (remember those) and I lusted for a pair.  I dreamt about them and imagined how wonderful my life would be if ONLY I had a pair of platform huaraches. My mother said absolutely not.  But eventually she did acquiesce to the navy blue Papagallo pumps. And so began my love affair with high heels.

For the next 30 years the only time I wasn’t wearing a heel was when I was playing sports, skiing or on the beach. And the only flat shoes I owned were flip flops, sneakers of different varieties, and ski boots.  My entire wardrobe was based on heels of varying heights. My skirts and dresses were always a few inches too long to accommodate my shoes.  Then I messed up my knees.  And in case you’re wondering, it wasn’t from falling off my shoes.  It was, in fact, from skiing…in flat boots.  The ski patrol guy told me that it was actually my boot’s fault, as they were a bit to big which allowed for just enough torsion to twist and snap my ligaments…damn flat shoes…

Anyone with testy knees knows that heels are your kryptonite.  These days I can wear a pair of heels for about an hour if I’m lucky, then all sorts of bad vibes start jutting down my legs, screaming louder than an infant with an ear infection on an airplane.  Moreover, a year in flat shoes has made my feet spread just enough that few of my heels fit comfortably, and I may as well be stuffing my feet into leather torture chambers, and even if I lasted more than an hour I’d still have blisters and hot spots, so what’s the point…

I’m learning to make peace with a wardrobe of flat shoes.   I’m actually developing a fondness for Tory Burch Revas, and those Rebecca Minkoff Smoking Slippers with the horoscope logos are really adorable.  I recently dropped off a bundle of skirts and pants to be hemmed, which will open up wardrobe choices that have been off limits for a while.  And I’m standing up straighter, just to make the most of the height that genetics, not Louboutin, gave me.

I do miss my sexy, vampy shoes, but I’m not quite ready to say goodbye to them forever.  But when I do, I’ll be sure to take advantage of one of those on-line consignment stores.  I may just earn enough in commissions to treat myself to a fancy new handbag, or a perhaps a pair of classic Chanel quilted ballet flats…

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