I very, very rarely wear heels anymore. Hell, I very rarely wear anything that would LOOK good with heels.
Today, though, I decided to wear a pair of heels that I've only worn once before. They were one of the 42 pairs I bought last fall right before school started. Not really, it was only 7 pairs.
Is it 7 pairs? Or 7 pair? You'd think an English teacher would know. One pair is two shoes, but it seems that if you bought 14 shoes, it would be 7 pairs.
Anyway, I have this really cute jacket that sort of requires dressy brown pants, and dressy brown pants require dressy brown heels.
I took a spare pair (that one I KNOW is singular) of brown shoes (flat ones) to school today for that moment when I couldn't take the heels anymore.
But I never put them on.
Having a spare pair of shoes is sort of like having the granny gear on my bicycle. I like knowing it's there, but it's a point of pride not to use it.
Yes, I realize that doesn't make a whole lot of sense. About the bicycle OR the shoes.
So I managed to wear the heels all day. And it wasn't really all that bad.
Except that my day has now mercifully come to an end approximately 5 hours later than it normally does, and approximately 12 hours and 8 minutes since I put those damn shoes on.
I didn't realize when I put the heels on to go to school that I would NOT, as I usually do, come straight home and kick off my shoes.
Today's schedule included a trip to the tanning bed (don't tell my nurse sister), a visit to the hospital to see my mother-in-law (she's still not doing well, but she's in good spirits, for whatever THAT'S worth in the medical world), eating out (a blessing and a nice mid-week surprise), and an unexpected trip to the store with the big red bullseye-looking logo to buy paint for my hoodlums at school so they will FINALLY finish painting the ceiling tile they're doing for a project and get back to real work.
My puppies are tired.
As is the rest of my body and soul.