Hello reader(s)!
I have a confession…
*Clears throat*
I don't own a single pair of heels.
I will now allow you some space to organize your thoughts and feelings about my revelation.
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Good? Alright.
Back to my post.
I owned one pair of heels in my entire life. Let me set the scene. It was the day before I started fourth grade. My mom took me back to school shopping. I decided that I had to have a pair of clog-like shoes (for a lack of a better description) that had higher heels than any of the other shoes in my closet.
My mom said no.
I begged and pleaded.
She still said no.
I asked why.
She told me that she didn't want me to hurt myself trying to walk in them to class or at recess. I crossed my heart and promised that I would be super careful when walking in them.
She bought them for me.
A few weeks later, I was running down a hill at recess wearing my beloved high-heeled shoes. I fell and twisted my ankle pretty badly. I had to be sent home from school.
Waiting in the principal's office for my mom to pick me up, I frowned at my high-heeled monstrosities. How could they betray me?
My mom was right, but I didn't want her to be angry at me. Also, even though I was harboring ill feelings towards them at the time, I really didn't want her to take away my new shoes.
So I lied.
When my mom arrived to pick me up and asked me what happened, I told her that someone had tripped me while I was running at recess. Then she got upset because she thought that I meant that this person had tripped me on purpose. I assured her that it was an accidental tripping and that the perpetrator had apologized profusely. She seemed to accept my lie.
But it gets worse.
Then she took me to the doctor's office to get my ankle looked at, and I had to lie to the doctor too. It was terrible. Anyone who knows me knows that I'm crap at lying… My fourth-grade self was humiliated and full of guilt. Why didn't I just tell the truth?
I let my guilt fester for another few weeks, until I had finally had enough. Late one night, I heard my mom get out of bed and go to the kitchen for a glass of water. I threw off my covers and went to the kitchen to confess to my crimes.
I told her that I had really tripped over my new heels at recess. She was more angry that I had lied to her, but she took it well (it was pretty late at night). I apologized over and over for lying, and we hugged.
I never wore those shoes again, and to this day, I have never purchased another pair of high-heeled shoes. I don't think there is really a moral to that story, and I don't think me choosing not to wear heels now is really even related to it. It's just a funny story that I think about when I'm choosing what shoes to wear each day.
I ask myself: Would I be able to run down a hill in these?
Here are my real reasons:
I don't wear heels because when I've tried I look like Bambi trying to walk on ice for the first time.
I don't wear heels because I think they're uncomfortable.
I don't wear heels because I'm already pretty tall and I don't want to hit my head on anything.
I don't wear heels because Vans. Duh.
I don't wear heels because I like to walk in my own unique way.
I don't wear heels because they're loud.
I don't wear heels because I don't want to…
I feel like I should stress that I'm not writing this post to mock the girls (more graceful than myself) who choose to wear heels. They are your feet; put whatever you want on them.
Instead, I wanted to write it so that the girls like my fourth-grade self know that it's okay to not wear what other people deem "sexy" or "popular."
After all, no one ever twisted their ankle running down a hill wearing beat up sneakers.
(My last statement is 100% unverified. I'm sure that there are actually people around the world who could quickly disprove it. Please don't send me pictures…)
Alright, I'm done.
Goodnight!
