So, let me tell you about this one time, this idea I had, or maybe it was a dare, I don’t even remember exactly how it started. But the point is, I found myself thinking, “Yeah, I can totally do that ‘high heels on my tippys’ thing.” You know, like those super graceful people you see, making it look easy. Spoiler: it’s not. Not for me, anyway.
First off, I had to dig out a pair of heels. Found some that looked like they meant business, real sky-high things. Holding them, I already felt a bit wobbly. But, you know, confidence is key, or so they say. So, I slipped them on. Standing still? Okay, manageable. Felt tall, a bit like a confused flamingo, but upright.
Then came the ‘tippys’ part. Oh boy. I tried to lift my heels off the ground, putting all the pressure on the balls of my feet, while already being in heels. My ankles immediately protested. Loudly. It was like they collectively screamed, “Are you insane?!” I nearly toppled over right then and there. My cat, who was watching this whole spectacle, just gave me that look. You know the one. Pure judgment.
“Okay,” I thought, “this needs a strategy.” Clearly, just winging it wasn’t going to cut it. So, I decided to use the wall for support. Like a true athlete in training. I placed my hand on the wall, took a deep breath, and attempted the tiptoe-in-heels maneuver again. It was… a struggle. Each tiny lift felt like I was trying to balance a pile of bricks on my head. My calves were burning. My toes were curled up so tight, I was worried they’d get stuck that way.
I practiced going back and forth along that small stretch of wall. It probably looked ridiculous. I focused on taking tiny, tiny steps. Lift, balance (kinda), step. Lift, wobble, nearly fall, step. It was a whole production. I could feel sweat, actual sweat, trickling down my back. From walking. In my living room. This was supposed to be glamorous, right? It felt more like I was failing a sobriety test designed by a sadist.
After what felt like an eternity, but was probably only ten minutes, I gave up. I kicked those heels off so fast. The relief was incredible. My feet hit the floor, and I swear they sighed. I flopped onto the sofa, defeated but also weirdly enlightened.
So, the big takeaway from my grand experiment? Some things are just not meant for regular folks like me. Walking in high heels on your tippys? Yeah, that’s a special skill. One that I apparently do not possess and, frankly, have no more desire to acquire. My ankles still haven’t quite forgiven me. Every now and then, if I even glance at a pair of heels, I can feel them tense up. Lesson learned. Stick to what you know, or at least, stick to what doesn’t make you look like you’re about to perform an accidental gymnastics routine in your living room.
