It's a pain to be beautiful

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...

On the subject of service

Today I met what might possibly be one of the rudest cashiers ever. He should've been forced to attend Boot Camp for people in the service industry. Not only did he glare at me as if he'd caught me stealing when I came up to the register, he then proceeded to yawn, angrily punch in the codes for the things I was buying (hard enough so that I started to wonder if cash registers could file a complaint of physical abuse), sighing so heavily I had to wonder if he was actually having an asthma attack and never once looked me in the eye. When he handed me my things he just stared emptily into the air above my shoulder, almost throwing the things I'd bought at me. And then he immediately turned away from me and started studying the cigarettes while talking to his co-worker. not even as much as a "have a nice day" or "Thank you". If I ever act like that during my part time job as a cashier... please someone drag me out back and shoot me. That is no way to behave in front of customers.

And now on to another aspect of service. Today I visited the stable my horse will temporarily move to while our stable is undergoing the facelift from Hell (seen from the stable's point of view and in regards to what it will have to suffer through before the renovation is done). Not only is the other stable practically just across the road from our stable, but my horse will also get a huge stall that could've easily fitted two of him in it. He will spend his days in a nice enclosure surrounded by mares and won't be disturbed by the others at night since the only stall neighbouring his is only inhabited by two small rabbits. And from the human point of view... They've got feeding machines that you just load up with the concentrated feeding. And then at a set time of day those machines open, neatly disposing the correct amount of feed into the horse's food crib. As for the hay, they just load it onto a wagon and feed the horses. They've also got a really nice rest area for the humans and a WC just outside the rest area (toilets are otherwise scarce in stables). It seems to be a very nice stable and I'm sure my horse will like it there, self-proclaimed Casanova and King of the Hill as he is. Still, despite all this, it's going to be really nice to get back to our renovated stable afterwards. Because, after all, our stable is our stable, our home. And you know what they say "There's no place like home".

Additional Update:
I've always thought hating was a waste of energy... but my neighbour is doing a good job of making me reconsider. It's midnight, on a friggin' Monday... and the shithead is playing his shitty crap music high enough to make it feel like even my walls are vibrating. God, if only I had an axe right now... *slams head against wall*