I’ve had enough. It’s a tragedy that I cannot afford to ignore any longer. It must be addressed, like NOW!
Mamma needs some new shoes, STAT!!!!
I like shoes. No, really, I LIKE shoes. In fact, I’d say I’m pretty darn close to LOVING shoes–especially my high heels. They’re an integral part of my being (not really).
I wear my heels just about everyday during the week while I am educating the future about Oedipus Rex and Antigone, metaphors, root words, and philosophical assumptions.
My heels and I have broken up fights, chased students down halls, climbed ladders (I wouldn’t recommend), and even shot a few hoops together. It’s just second nature for my feet at this point in our coexistence.
I’ve had people ask how I can wear “those things” all day long.
“Don’t your feet hurt at the end of the day?”
“Aren’t those shoes uncomfortable??”
“How do you do it?”
The truth is, I enjoy wearing heels. Yes, to me they are comfortable and No, my feet don’t hurt at the end of the day. Plus, they make me 2-3 inches taller on a daily basis. And when you need to have a “come to Jesus” meeting with a teenaged boy who stands 6-foot-whatever, it’s always handy to get a little closer to eye level. It’s a tactic that I swear by.
Until this school year, my heels have always had a pretty calm reality. I’d throw them on in the morning, walk across five feet of cement to my vehicle and then go to work. Repeat the steps in the afternoon. No problem. Ahh, the city life.
But this year is different. Living on the farm has just about done in my precious shoes. I’ve scuffed and scratched and broken and worn down to the souls my poor, pretty shoes. The life expectancy of my heels has been dramatically cut short, and I’m now at my breaking point!!
In actuality, my heels are at their breaking point. Which is why I had to make an emergency trip to the nearest town with a mall to get me some new shoes this week.
Apparently constantly walking on gravel, using my heels to aerate the soil on a nearly daily basis, and walking through Milo fields and cattle pens has affected the longevity of my shoes. Who knew?!?!?
So I called my husband as I was driving home from work and actually caught him with his phone (a miracle in itself which will be properly addressed in a later blog).
“Hey, I’ve got an emergency and NEED to go to Hutch. Wanna go??”
“Really, what’s the emergency???”
“I broke the tip of my heel today, and now there’s metal showing!!!! It’s a tragedy of Greek proportions!! OH, THE HUMANITY!!!!”
“Yah, I’ll go. I need to pick up something for the planter.”
“Great, I’ll see you in 15 minutes.”
So hubby and I traveled to town to get a plastic tube thingy for his planter and then we hit the mall.
Oh, Glorious Shoes!! Pretty peep toes, just in time for spring!!! Focus, Kim. Stay focused.
After trying on one too many pair, I made my purchase—a simple back heel to replace my disheveled, downtrodden shoes.
After getting my shoe fix, it was still fairly early to be out for a school night, so we decided to go out to dinner.
Chili’s was my choice as it has a special place in my heart. Aside from the fact it has endless chips and salsa, it’s where Adam and I first met for a dinner date.
It wasn’t until halfway through a second bowl of salsa that I realized we were having our “last supper” together because corn planting was quickly approaching. Adam has been working on his machinery for weeks now, getting ready for planting. And that’s when I became concerned…
“Well, I guess I’ll see you in June before wheat harvest.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I won’t see you because you’ll be planting now. I’m going to be a planting-widow. Don’t worry, some ladies in my Farm Wife Support Group have told me and I know all about it.”
“I’ll be done in a week.”
“Yeah right. (Adam’s sense of time is a little off. If he says he’ll be home in 30 minutes, he really means 2 hours. Again, another blog, another time.)”
While we were driving home I asked him what he’d like me to bring him for dinner while he’s planting. I started naming off a grocery list (to last a year) of items I thought would hold him over during planting.
“I’ll be done in a week!”
End of discussion.
Whether he’s done in a week or not, there’s one thing that will be a guarantee. My new, pretty black heels are going to get broken in “farm style” as I plan to drive by fields and check on my farmer on my way home from work this week.
Pull up your boot straps, little heels!!! Let’s see what you’re made of!