I tried on my first pair of high heels today. I did not feel pretty. Perhaps it was the white socks that I neglected to take off beforehand. Perhaps it was the vertigo of standing at what was more or less a 45-degree angle. Perhaps it was the notion that my heels were sinking into the hardwood floor. Or perhaps it was just the fact that I was perched several feet in the air on top of what were effectively black satin vice-grips. Air traffic controllers were re-routing passenger jets around me. Biplanes started attacking me, trying to rescue the tiny blonde woman who suddenly appeared in my left hand. I heard hushed voices discussing what the Bulgarian judge might give me when I tried to dismount (a 7.9, as it turned out - I landed gracefully, but spent the better part of a lifetime figuring out how to undo the little buckles and this counted against my style points). It was quite an experience. Who needs drugs when you have shoes?
And next week I get to do it again, in public.
The local YWCA is having a "Wine, Women and Shoes" event seven days from now. It is a fund-raising event designed to help the YWCA in its fight against domestic violence, and it mostly centers around getting local bigwig men to walk a mile down the main drag of town wearing high heels, in return for which they collect pledges and get a nice meal of hors d'oeurvres and wine, which will no doubt be needed in quantity. There are only so many bigwigs in our little town, so a few of us other guys will be there to pad out the house a bit, but we get to raise money too, and for a good cause. So I'll be collecting pledges from now through the 24th.
Yes, there will be pictures. I will even post some here. And then I go back to my sneakers. Worn, comfy sneakers, with no altitude, no buckles, and no tiny blonde women to throw at pesky biplanes. Some rescuers - they couldn't catch worth anything.