Women love their high heels. One of the reasons women love their high heels is because MEN also love high heels. Men know that women feel sexier in great footwear, and that is a huge turn on…not to mention the visual of their lady in said heels. I have one friend who is very, very dedicated to her footwear. The only person I know more dedicated to her shoes is her husband. He has a deep respect for the high heel, for its sexiness, and for the way it makes his wife look.
(She’s super cute.) One night, the four of us were getting ready to go out. They came to our place first for a quick drink (in college we called this quick drink before going out “pre-game-ing”… now that we are older and classier and shit, we don’t call it that anymore). We were headed over to the Marietta Greek Fest for an evening of gyros, baklava, and Greek dancing. Luckily, we live close by, so we were going to walk. I was almost ready to go; I just had to put my shoes on. I walked outside, and my friend’s husband (F’s H) Had A Fit when he saw my feet. I had chosen some cute, yet functional flip lops, as our evening would break my two rules of high heels: I would be out longer than two hours, and I would be required to walk more than twenty five steps. (BTW, you KNOW my tootsies were painted, so that wasn’t an issue!)
F’s H: What is on your feet? You can’t be serious.
J: Of course I’m serious. These are my cute and practical flip flops. Do you want to listen to me bitch all night that my feet hurt?
F’s H: You look so nice. You need nice shoes. Don’t you want to look nice for your husband?! Go change your shoes.
J: Thomas likes my shoes. And he would rather not hear me bitch. Plus, he won’t carry me when my feet BLEED from blisters if I wear high heels.
T: Her shoes are fine. And she’s right, no bitching and no carrying…
F’s H: (undeterred) You have great shoes! I have seen them! Please put them on!
J: Fine. I can guarantee you that #1 my feet will be bleeding before we get there, and #2, you are on piggy back duty when I refuse to take another step.
F’s H: Change ‘em and let’s go.
My husband successfully listened to this back and forth without busting out laughing. My friend’s husband thought that he could claim victory. And so we set off on our way. Halfway there, my feet were KILLING ME and I felt something suspiciously sticky and wet in the back of my heels. I yelled to everyone to STOP while I checked the damage. If you guessed bloody blisters, you win! To prove the point, I tipped my shoe over, and yes, blood trickled out… I wasn’t
surprised as one of my Rules had been violated- I walked WAY more than twenty five steps! (We also had traipsed through my backyard, climbed a chain link fence, and navigated through thick weeds/ brush at the border of a parking lot. IN HEELS.)
Although the call of the gyro and delicious Greek wine was strong, the screaming from my feet was definitely louder. I refused to go on in my current condition. I did not make the gallant offer, “You all go on without me. I’ll be fine”,- if I wasn’t getting any baklava, no one was getting any. This was a problem for everyone else, as they were hungry and ready to eat. I calmly looked my F’s H in the eye and informed him of the solution: I was getting a piggy back ride there and back. My feet would be saved, and everyone’s dinner was again a reality. The good sport that he was (is), he complied. Also, he was out of other options. After all, he had consented to the terms of the Shoe Agreement.
Dinner was wonderful that evening. In subsequent years, it is now only my friend and I that go to Greek Fest. For some reason, our husbands don’t want to go anymore…