Breaking in a pair of shoes is like breaking in a wild steed. You spy the steed. You know, that gorgeous beast who's looking back at you daring you to tame it. Daring you to become its master. One of you is going to win the battle. And hopefully it will be you. But that's not to say it doesn't require patience, perseverance and an unusually high pain threshold. But if it's a cute shoe...
I bought these shoes yesterday after a Shiatsu treatment by Rasputina (thanks! I feel so...metal today!) to wear on my trip. Something sporty and cazjh, without being too sporty and cazjh. I'd post a picture of my actual feet in the actual shoes, but my clompers are so mangled right now I couldn't get them on if I tried.
I decided to wear them to work today. A 20 minute walk should be enough the first time in. By the time I was at the Whisky Dunkin Donuts, however, I was in agony.
But it was going to be okay. It was just a matter of moving past the pain. Move. Past. The. Pain. By the time I got to the Canary, my heels were meaty, bloody stumps. But I made it to work. So I put the shoes back in the coral for the day and slipped on my Super Birkis.
I decided I needed some reinforcement for the walk back so I bought those most excellent l'ampoule rubber plaster-thingies that supposedly stay on for four days. I think my mistake was that I bought the CVS variety.
Score one for The Wild Merrells.
The way home was bloody hell. Almost literally but not quite. By the time I got to 13th & Chestnut I was practically hobbling. You bloody bastards, you. But you were not going to win. Goddammit.
On the walk home I thought of Treblinka. I'm really not being snarky here. I thought to myself 'Shut up, Oy Vey. Stop complaining. What do you have to complain about? You're walking 10 bloody blocks and then you get to take off these evil beings and sit on your couch and watch Hell's Kitchen...what about those poor people in Treblinka? They didn't have nice shoes. Or those guys in Touching the Void
. You think they whinged about ses ampoules
as they hung by their bungees in the Crevasse of Death? Are you kidding me?'
I also thought of ANTM and how those poor girls sometimes have to wear three-inch heels three sizes too small down a runway watched by millions of people. I mean, geez, that's pressure.
By the time I got to Broad and Chestnut I'd managed to maneuver my hobble into a quasi-hip-swinging-canter until I got home. You'd only really notice the slight limp if you were really paying attention.
And when I stepped into the shower to hose the experimental scone off of my body...
ohmygodjesusmaryandjosephholymarymotherofgodprayforussinners (breathe!) thepowerandgloryforeverandeveramen...when the water hit my heels...I went to a place deep inside myself and screamed.
Yesterday I wore my Ebay.fr polka dotted mules to Trader Joe's for a little breaking in. By the time I got to the Mutter Museum
, my feet were ready to be pickled for an exhibit.
But dammit. I will win. Wills will be bent. Soles will be broken...um...arches will continue roamin'? Umm...Stupid T-Shirt Sighting of the Day: Pimpercrombie & Bitch.