Shoe Prison, and Why I Fail at Wallflowerhood

wpid-20141207_222304.jpgWell, today I pulled out the big guns. By which I mean hugely impractical platform shoes to wear because… well, just because.

I have recently slipped into an ultraconservative slump, donning any number of dainty, practical and dignified shoes, largely on account of my slightly iffy knee and an upcoming ski holiday. Well, that and my desire to finally achieve wallflower-hood, a state to which I have aspired for decades without any real success. Wallflowers, I have found, rarely get cautioned or counselled or advised, on account of the fact they know how to colour within the lines and behave themselves.

riding boots

My everyday feet… stuck in evil boot prison. (Zzzzzzzzzzz)

And then, there’s me: A Picasso in a world of Kincaids. Westwood in a world of WalMart.

When I’m not pretending to be dignified, I have been trying to keep my feet from freezing in knee length riding boots, and on really cold days, a pair of quilted and fur-lined Love From Australia boots. Kind of like knee length Uggs, but… well, cooler. Or at least more expensive. Toasty warm, yes. Feminine and girly? Not so much.

And so, today, the real me came out to play for a few hours.


Let’s see… My LFA’s: ANOTHER pair of black boots. Expensive, yes. Warm, definitely. Pretty? Hmmmmmmmmmm

A fellow blogger, redcarpetsquare, did a post last week called Foot Prison, in which she laughingly bewailed the discomfort of high heels. I told her I could relate. Most days, when my feet are on day release, they quite happily schlump around the house in knitted, flannel lined elf boots. Other days, they are cooped up in the mine shafts of knee length boots, perfectly devoid of femininity, certainly appropriate for tracking across the tundra or riding a horse, neither of which evokes particularly girly images of fluffy feather boas or silky scarves.

But some of my best days are spent in maximum security. Those are days I am kept under guard by my ever watchful husband who remains convinced I will fall flat on sloping concrete and reveal rather more than a pencil skirt ought to allow. (I would be lying to say that this tough old bird doesn’t like being treated like she’s made of glass from time to time!) Forget the water on my right knee or my dodgy SI joint. All caution is thrown to the wind and I pretend for a moment or two that I am Cinderella.

Or Marilyn.

Today was one such day. As I trip-trapped across the cobbles on my way to an early curry dinner with HH, I did, indeed, feel like a million bucks. And also Marilyn.

Wallflowers can hold up the walls, I say. These feet were made for dancing!

Mother Hen

© motherhendiaries 2014, all rights reserved


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