Yes, today I managed to kill my feet.
I'm not a high heels person. I prefer street shoes, as flat as possible, and comfortable, loose-fitting clothes. And yet today, a completely regular Monday when I should be busy scheduling interviews, writing on my thesis or at least reading some of the literature for it... I donned my new jeans, which were tight enough to make my poor abused knee scream in utter pain, and my high heel boots. And then I bravely strode forth (well, more like planted myself behind the wheel to abuse my car since it's hell trying to shift gears with high heels) to go shopping... with money I shouldn't be using. Procrastination for the win, right?
Anyway, the "good" news is that I didn't actually end up buying anything (if you don't count a bottle of cola and a danish... and then some carrots and toilet paper). I did find some stuff I would love to buy but all of them were above my meager finances as things are right now. I also looked really good, although my shoe-induced duck-like wobble at the end of the shopping trip might or might not have lowered my level of beauty with a point or so. But still, considering I usually run around in sweat pants and formless turtle necks (all of it beautifully adorned with hay and horse hair... as well as some stylish tufts of cat's hair) I prefer to think that my beauty level was still way above average.
The thing with high heels is that, while you look damn good while wearing them, they successively break down the defence of your feet until it feels like every last bone is screaming in indescribable agony. If you think driving a car where you have to shift gears manually is hard just because you wear high heels, just wait until you've walked around in those heels until your feet are ready to go on a suicidal rampage and then try to drive a car with manual gears... It's the perfect illustration of how everything is relative, and how everything can always get worse. However, there is a light at the end of the tunnel, even though it feels like everything is crashing down around you, your feet are throbbing like the worst tooth ache you've ever had, enhanced about 10 times.
The silver lining on the dark grey cloud that is beauty in high heels is when you get home and you can finally remove those devices of torture that are too terrifying to even be measured on a medieval scale. It's almost as if you can hear your feet pull a bones deep sigh of relief as they are finally allowed to reclaim their natural shape. And then sitting down, putting those poor, abused feet up on a stool... Ah, that's heaven right there.
Although my knee is still hurting...