There are rules of L.A. that I am catching on to as time goes by. Like in the summer when we were invited to a music party where the dress was to be "casual", I learned that "casual" means that the men will have on nicer jeans than usual and maybe a jacket, but the girls will be dolled to the nines. When Davey said that we were going to a party for the Producers and Engineers wing of the Grammys and that the dress was listed as "studio casual"- I was prepared. Doll to the nines. And really, even on an average day, most of the women in this city wear either sky high heels, boots, or an amalgam of the two. Tired of feeling like the "before" picture at these events, or the midwestern just-off-the-truck character on the glossy tv show, I decided to ratchet up the height a few inches and invest in some sky high heels.
I am not a high heel kind of girl. I'm a short fingernails and practical shoes girl. I used to get so frustrated with girls in heels when I took the El in Chicago. They'd be wobbling ever so slowly and precariously up and down the steps while I'd be stuck behind them, dying to go faster and tapping my comfy flat-shoe wearing foot. I think that as objects, heels are amazingly cute, but that for all intents and purposes, there's no reason to do that to yourself.
But, what the hay, it's a party. So, I got these shoes (the ones in the photo), which are darling. They have 4" heels. This is henceforth unexplored territory for me, my highest having been a 3" pair that I wore once and then used to collect the dust in my closet. These are cool, though. When you put them on, you can tell that they're not comfy, but it changes the way you stand, everything about your body feels different. Being 4" taller was SO cool too! Normally at a crowded party, I can't see past the shoulders around me. Last night, I was over most girls heads (the shoes made me almost 5'9"), I was looking Davey in the eye, it was like a Freaky Friday thing- like I had switched bodies with some tall chica, and the view was really cool!
Really, the shoes didn't kill me until we were leaving. 1/2 way down the block to the car the pain was almost unbearable. And the really funny thing is that once we were in the car and I ripped them off of my feet, I realized that I had to pee really bad. My body had been focusing so much on the pain receptors in my feet that I was ignoring the fact that I drank 3 vodka tonics and hadn't hit the restroom.
So, I have learned a valuable lesson. The "tough" girls that have short fingernails and practical shoes and are dressed to use power tools at all times... we got nothing on the girly girls. They look all fluffy and delicate, but they have a really high tolerance for pain. They are bad mamma jammas.