But then you also get moments of wavering confidence wherein all sorts of things spring up in your head, making you doubt things that you usually take for granted on account of their normalcy. Reality shifts indefinitely and suddenly, you get vertigo when you attempt the short flight of stairs leading to your office lobby, which you've always taken during your pre-heels era. It's not a comforting feeling. Seriously.
And then there's the blistering calluses that sprout all over the place, seemingly with a vengeance. Can't say I haven't been warned. Everyone knows heels like these are a killer. Like, I sometimes imagine myself slipping on the well-polished floor of some packed resto, like, say, Big Buddha during lunchtime, like, say, today. And then falling flat on my back, hitting the sharp edge of a nearby table, and cracking my skull in the process. All within full view of my officemates and my new crush, Paul, that b-ball guy from the UAAP (Ohms, he is a looker, survey says). Smooth, right? Yep, these heels could very well be the end of me.
So why can't I take them off? And I don't want answers making references to the time-old feminine struggle against patriarchal hegemony, okay.
And by the way, I'm no shoe fiend. Just so we're clear, I'm not the type to squeal in delight over the arrival of the latest season's pieces. But getting high on high heels, that's a reality with me. I even get instantaneous hallunications, hazy though they may be. But I guess that's better than if they actually smack of imminent possibility. Then again, they probably really do. It is quite a dangerous life people eternally perched on heels live. That's why I have my trusty Havaianas to use and abuse during the weekend. Balance, that's what it's all about.
And here's the part where you mutter, "Ayt, whatever."
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