Once upon a time, I worked in an office that required my looking professional. It wasn’t a job that lasted for very long. I’ve mostly worked in jobs that required little more than jeans and a flannel shirt. But for this one job I actually wore skirts and I occasionally wore shoes that had a smidgen of heel (and before you think, “Hey! She said she wasn’t a shoe person!” I didn’t pick them out myself; before Adam left his job at Nordstrom.com, I met with a personal shopper and took advantage of Adam’s employee discount). My recollection is I did just fine both in the job and in my heels.
One week ago, Adam and I celebrated our two-year wedding anniversary by going to Chez Henri. For the occasion (which included a yummy martini), I put on some of those previously mentioned work clothes, including a cute pair of heels.
Now, when Doodles is feeling feisty, he likes me to hold his hands so he can stand. Standing for him is a precarious act, and he wobbles this way, he wobbles that way. Doodles is just like a Weeble except he does fall down.
Me, in those heels? I made Doodles look like Baryshnikov. I think we can officially consider all my heels “retired.”
