High Heels

The thing about high heels is that they are meant for little tiny short girls not for someone like me at 5’10”, when for cripes sake, I am already taller than most of the boys and sure as hell don’t need no freaking heels to make me look taller. 

Brewster Freeland was the cutest damn architecture student with black curly hair and eye lashes to shame a woman.  He was about 5”6” and wouldn’t you know he asked me out on a date. I mean a real date to have Chinese food at the Mandarin the only “foreign” food restaurant in Eugene.  I wore my heels, as ladies did on those days, which shot me up almost to the ceiling.  And, my gosh, he wore a crisp white shirt, jacket and tie.  I thought he was very sophisticated when he asked if I would like a drink.  I was so innocent I said I didn’t know what to order so he said that I might like a “Grasshopper”.  It was delicious and tasted like melted chocolate chip mint ice cream. 

We had a romance for several months.  In those days romances were quite chaste unlike today’s vulgar display of some young women looking like hookers and all to willing to do just about anything, if you know what I mean.

I do digress - we were talking about high heels.  I don’t know who started the fad probably during the 9^th century when men wore high heels to keep their boot in their stirrups. And we sure see the foppish men in the 16^th century wearing high heels along with wigs with dangling curls, velvet jackets with white lace and pantaloons, puffy sleeves and tights.

Short stocked royals, the result of inbreeding, took to heels to make them look taller.  They got over that style pretty quickly when rude comments were made questioning their masculinity. 

Then women started wearing the contraptions.  And today it is simply amazing to watch young women, hoping to be fashionable and sexy, wear tall leather boots up to their crotch and titter on 5-inch stilettos. 

Speaking of stilettos when my husband and I had refinished all the downstairs hardwood floors in our Victorian South Slope house which we were putting on the market. Some real estate agent brought a potential seller into the house when we were not there and there were thousands of pockmarks, made by metal stilettos, all over our new floors.  We had no proof who did it but my suspicions were that they knew what was happening and did not confess to it.  So much for women who wear heels.