Wednesday, December 24, 2014

I'm a size 9...sometimes a 9 1/2

So my boyfriend and I just moved into a nice, big home! Our first home together actually :) Gosh, what a change from an apartment, I tell you! While packing the endless boxes that incessantly cluttered our apartment for a month, I noticed something. Shoes. So. Many. Shoes.

I started with the shoes in the garage, filling 1 box, which became 5 boxes, which became 7 boxes. Mind you, these were pretty large, heavy duty moving boxes, not your everyday small kitchen appliance ones; each fitting about 10 pairs of shoes. I thought I was done but alas,  there were more. In the bedroom closet, under our bed, stuffed under our dining room table and even some in the kitchen pantry. I thought to myself what my mother would have said: "Who the heck needs this many freaking shoes?!" and "What a waste of money!" A brief thought about how she was right flashed through my mind, but I quickly quieted it. Who wants to admit their mother is right?

I had running shoes: pink ones, blue ones, orange ones. Come on, you just have to have different colors to match different gym outfits! I had hiking boots: brown ugly ones that I felt like a man in, so naturally I needed to find a pair that had some pink on them. That made 2 pairs of $100+ hiking boots. 2 pairs of boots when I only go hiking maybe 10 times a year. Those Crocs that were purchased during a lapse in good judgement, 2 pairs of converse from when I was a wannabe punk rocker, 13 pairs of lovingly used flip-flops (Hey, I'm an Arizona girl), 3 pairs of identical tan wedges (Yeah, I've got nothing to say on that one), 6 pairs of the fake UGG boots in every color, 6 more of the same fake UGG boots in the same colors, BUT with a white faux fur lining on the top, 1 pair of Pocahontas-inspired leather boots for Halloween last year, and my favorite pink personally hand-glued rhinestone jean boots (I was watching Gypsy Sisters too much).

Then there were the heels; every color under the sun. There were "stripper" heels, short kitten heels, secretary heels, regular heels, all of them varying from 2 inches to 7 inches. The heels were what got me thinking the most. Why, when we're young, do we think that high heels are so awesome? When I was 18 through maybe the age of 22 I never went anywhere (besides work, obviously) without a pair of sassy heels on. The answer was always heels. Every date, heels. Every run to the store, heels. Every night out, heels. Church, heels. (That last one I feel a little bad about). When I was younger, I was committed to my shoes from the moment I put them on until I came back home. Never would I have condoned the personal embarrassment I would have faced had I succumbed to the pain and torn off those torture devices like I wanted to. No, I simply grimaced frequently and went on wearing them. They made me feel sexy, strong and I walked more confidently, which was reason enough to justify wearing them during those awkward low self-esteem years.

Then I thought to myself, as I felt the glossy surface of my favorite yet worn pair of black stilettos. "When's the last time I wore any of these"? You see, now I'm the ripe old age of 24 and I have a bit more sense than I did back then. High heels are like a bad life decision that you can't help but make and repeat a few times, just to make sure it's a bad decision. I realize now that heels hurt. They freaking HURT. They smash your toes, chip your nail polish, and ultimately leave you wanting to chop your feet off by the end of the night. They cause tension in your foot, ultimately affecting your hips and lower back. Sure, they make you look like a womanly, fragile vixen and may help you pick up on that hottie at the bar, but what is the real cost to your body later on in life?

Nowadays I have pretty much abandoned high heels and opted for a much simpler and more comfortable option. Flip-flops, my mom-ish tennis shoes or an ugly pair of grandma loafers. My feet thank me, as well as my wallet, and I can honestly say that I'm better for it. However, I can't deny that when a special occasion or date night rolls around, I'm back in those painful shoes in no time. Though I often have the same fleeting thought each time before walking out the door: "Could I get away wearing some all black simple Vans with this dress?" No? No.

So while I am no longer that sexy, sassy girl walking around with all eyes on her, I am comfortable. Comfortable in physicality, but also comfortable knowing that my hips, feet and back will not be in pain from a pair of shoes. Besides, I know that my boyfriend loves me anyways, ugly grandma loafers and all.

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