If you've ever suffered the pain of toecrushing high heels, you'll be able to relate to Maria Rushe's experience!
I hereby banish ye to the shelves of yesteryear, where one’s shoes with pointy toes and heels to one’s armpits are forever more sentenced to sit gathering dust.
Mammy wore these particularly yellowful toecrushers last night for dinner in the fanciful Hotel in which Mammy was staying.
Mammy was wearing a dress of sunshine colours and many curtains you see, and so Mammy thought she’d do that influencey thing and “pop” on a pair of heels.
Mammy dusted off the stilettos, throwing them into her case with memories of many nights of wearing these particular beauties pre-covid; Nights when Mammy wore these old reliable for 6 hours; nights filled with boogying and Beyonce drops…
In fact, the yellow babies were successfully worn to many weddings for the WHOLE day, surviving Rock the Boat, Footloose and fucking Wagonwheel…and even a Glasgow reel on the rare occasion where Mammy danced it in heels WITHOUT ending up in A&E.
And so, smug indeed was Mammy at her shoe choice for her first heel in many, many months.
On the yellow beauties “popped” and Cindafuckinrella was suddenly 11 inches taller, 57 degrees more vertical and a good tad sexier, (if one does say so one’s self…🤣)
Then, Mammy tottered the 500 yards to the restaurant, click clacked her way to the seat, sat down and sighed in relief.
For you see, after only approximately 7 minutes of wearing my comfy old reliable, it seems that some witchcraft was at play.
Mammy’s feet had swollen.
Mammy’s toes were screaming to be released from the yellow bellies of hell Mammy had squished them into.
Mammy’s calfs were seizing up, sending “alert alert!” signals to her arse muscles that something was very VERY wrong.
Mammy may in fact, have developed instantaneous bunnions…
So Cindefuckinrella here, sat for the next 3 hours, eating and drinking, swearing sporadic swears at her Prince fecking Charming about “fecking heels” and “wanting my trainers”.
Mammy did not kick them off under the table, (for firstly, that would be minging) and secondly, Mammy knew that the yellow heels had I fact, obviously SHRANK on the walk to my seat and so they would refuse to ever slip on to my feet ever again.
And so Cindefuckinrella turned into Grazelda or Anastasia or whichever one of the curtain-clad, big-footed ugly sisters whose toes were massively too large for the shoe.
Thankfully, copious bubbles numbed the pain, and so Mammy did make it back as far as the bedroom before prying the suction feckers off my poor feet.
“Begone!” Mammy declared to the hideous blister bitches as she unpacked this afternoon.
“Are you dumping them then?” asked Himself..
“No! But I shall NEVER wear them again.” Mammy declared.
…Until next time.