I Make Bad Shoe Decisions

Hi. My name is Cyndi. And I make bad shoe decisions. Allow me to illustrate how a bad shoe decision happens, for those of you who are more practical than I.

The morning begins. Cyndi drags herself out of bed at 4:45 am to get ready for the carpool she must meet at 6:10am. Yes you heard me right. After a quick glance in the bathroom mirror, Cyndi decides her hair can surely go one more day without being washed and blow dried. Cyndi crawls back into bed.

Fast forward an hour and fifteen minutes. (I'm sleeping and then putting on make-up during this bit. Bo-ring). Cyndi stands before her closet, peering at her shoes, wondering which ones she should wear today. Thence commences the battle between Practical Cyndi and Shallow Cyndi.

SC: Hmm, I just got a pedicure and my toes are looking pretty cute. Probably I should wear some open toed shoes today.
PC: You only have one pair of open toed shoes. Last time you wore them you ended up with four bloody gaping holes in your foot.
SC: I don't seem to remember that. I'll bet they won't hurt this time.
PC: Look down, genius. See those purpley lumpy scars? That would be from the open toed shoes in question.
SC: *Looks down. Ooh! Those little flowers they painted on my toes are so cute! I really should wear those open toed shoes.
PC: Heeello? Did you not hear what I just said? Those shoes are thinly veiled foot torture devices created by a misogynistic designer who has never had to fit his foot into a female shoe! DO NOT WEAR THEM!
SC: Hey look! They have ankle strappies! I forgot about the strappies! I love ankle strappies! *Reaches for the shoes.
PC: You're gonna be soooorrry. Crap. WE'RE going to be sorry. I hate you.
SC: *Humming to herself.* Yay! Cute shoes, cute shoes!
PC: *Sighs in disgust.

Fast forward another hour and a half. Cyndi is walking past the duck pond on her way into the building where she works.

PC: Ow. ow. ow. ow. OW!
SC: Must walk cute. Must not show excruciating pain. Must radiate confidence. Repeat -I'm on the catwalk. I'm on the catwalk.
PC: Catwalk my hiney! Sawing our feet off would less painful! Holy hannah! YOUCH!
SC: Must smile. Must not grimace. Must...Sweet googley moogley these freaking things hurt! Why in the heck did I wear these stupid things?
PC: Because you are a shallow moron who is willing to sacrifice pain for fashion. Ow. ow. ow.
SC: Must get to desk. Must sit. Must not limp in pain. *Grins maniacally to disguise the excruciating pain in her feet while greeting a co-worker in the elevator. "Good Morning! How are you!"
Coworker: *Eyes Cyndi dubiously.* Good morning. Are you okay?
PS: No you dipstick! I'm considering cutting my feet off with an index card! You wanna help?
SC: Oh yes! Just great thanks. Well, have a great day!*Cyndi lurches out of the elevator and limps to her chair and collapses.
PS: Well better assess the damage. *Moves aside ankle strappy.* Nice. A bloody blister. And before 8am. You just had to have the ankle strappies. Great job, Foofy. Great job.
SC: Oh shut up and give me a bandaid.

So now I have on two bandaids. And I'm taking the elevator up and down from the 4th floor. And still considering cutting my feet of with an index card. Or perhaps my desk scissors. But the strappies are really cute.

Cyndi