Somewhere in my memory, I vaguely remember how to wear high heels. On rare occasions, I even put them on my feet. I love high heels. I love the way they look –the higher the heel the better! I love how they look with skirts, jeans and shorts. I love slipping them on my feet and giving my outfit the grand finale it deserves. I stand and look in the mirror, turning all directions and noticing how everything always looks better in high heels. Then it happens. The shooting toe pain escalates to the point of no return. Suddenly, the beautiful, blissful memories vanish and painful blistering recollections take their place. Bars… clubs… restaurants… the office… all laden with painful shoe memories. Blisters on my toes, on the bottom of my feet, my ankles throbbing for reprieve. Then, no more than three step later, I remove the stilettos and replace them with the ever-so-comfortable and universal flip-flop.
My flip-flop collection has grown over the years. However, I have one favorite pair of Sketchers that I seem to like the most. They even have a little heel on them to give an illusion of height. I am also not too embarrassed to say that I have recently added a pair of slip-on Keds to my daily choices of footwear. I enjoy diversification.
My avoidance issue with high-heeled shoes has spread into other areas as well. I also choose to avoid foundation make-up. Foundation being my arch-enemy. A long time ago, I would cake it on before I painted the rest of my face. My husband still calls it war paint (haha… Spell Check wanted to call it whore paint, but I digress). Now that we have so many choices of great moisturizers with tint, and mineral make-up which is light to apply, it is difficult to recall just how very, very thick the foundations of yesteryear were. I know that there are women out there, who may not admit to, but definitely remember, the extra care that had to be taken to blend in our make-up. It was serious business. Otherwise, you would very likely end up with make-up lines running along your jaw-line or worse yet, a finger mark on your neck! Often, it was the wrong color. It was just a little too dark for your skin, so when you misapplied, it really looked bad. It was thick and creamy and I hated it. I live in the ultra-humid South for Pete’s sake! Nothing like a little perspiration creating canyons down your face as it slices through your make-up!
Nope, for now, I enjoy wearing very little make-up. Usually, a great moisturizer (with lots of sunscreen) and something to hide those dark circles of motherhood. Outside of that, what you see is what you get! Freckles, wrinkles, “wisdom spots” and all!
Speaking of freckles, wrinkles and “wisdom spots” — what was I thinking?! Why did it ever seem like a good idea for me to wear suntan lotion? I am pale with tons of freckles and reddish hair… did I really think I would tan? I only have two colors– red and white. No golden hue for me. Oh, how I wanted a tan like some of my sun-kissed friends. One time, I actually burned so bad that my lips swelled up. That would be called sun poisoning... As I got older, I did wise up to sunscreen. Baby steps. My first attempt was SPF 4. By my late teens, I was using SPF 8 and finally in my late 20’s I ventured into SPF 15. Now, I am a total sun-a-phobic sporting anything above SPF 50. Today, in fact, I bought SPF 110! I have no shame — I also wear a wide-brimmed hat, oversized sunglasses, sit under the umbrella and more often than not, I wear a long-sleeved cover-up. Had I done this when I was younger, I wouldn’t need any form of wrinkle cream that I currently slather on nightly. The take away here — wear sunscreen.
A moment of reflection…
Really, as I reflect about these, “that was then, this is now” experiences, it comes down to this. I am pretty darn comfortable in my shoes. I am happy in my flip-flops. I don’t have the need to fuss over things that don’t matter all that much. My shoes, make up and level of tan doesn’t make me nicer, smarter or better. In fact, based on that thought, they would just make me blister, hot and more blistered! My Grandma always said you gotta like yourself. Be your own best friend. If you can’t be that, then you probably got some work to do. I remember asking her if she ever got lonely. She sat back in her old, worn in rocker smiled and answered, “Honey, I like me pretty good. I make for good company.” That, my friends, is my aspiration.
- High Heels Are Not an Everyday Shoe (everydayhealth.com)