Stop with the Jeans and Stilettos

Stop It With the Rhinestone Jeans and Stilettos!  

This is a post that I’m writing for “The Gypsy Mama’s” 5-minute Friday.  Her blog is  http://thegypsymama.com/    It is completely awesome, and you should visit.

The assignment is for everyone to write for 5 minutes on anything.  Just write what you feel with no regard for perfection.  

I think I’ll try it.....

START

Stop it with the Stilettos and High Heels!

I was at the salon the other day getting my gray roots colored.  It MUST  be done.  That, and getting my acrylic nails done.  Those are really the only two things I do for myself on a regular basis because even on the other side of 45, I still have a semblance of self-respect.  

So I’m in there with all this gook on my hair and critiquing looking at all the ladies who come in.  Every last one of them are close to my age and they are sporting dressy jeans and stilettos.  Not even platform shoes which are popular now.  Stilettos.  

Now, I’m the type of woman who really doesn’t care what I look like, however I will absolutely NEVER sit on the bottom bleacher of my daughter’s basketball games because the fluorescent lights reflect off my gray roots creating an iridescent glow around me which makes me look fatter.  

I look down at my shoes, and my self-image goes down the crapper.  I’m wearing my Easy Rider, flat, mom shoes that I’ve worn every day, fall and winter, for the last 3 years with knee socks (or trouser socks for those who have an inflated image of themselves), and I have a rubber thing between my toes that help reduce my chronic, burning bunion pain.  

Where are these women going that they choose to wear rhinestone-studded jeans and stilettos on a Tuesday during the day?  Are they professionals—at gold-digging for sugar-daddies?  Are they competing with Leigh Ann Touhy (the inspiration for The Blind Side) for a spot at her lunch table at the Ritz Carlton?    I can’t imagine ONE reason they would walk around like that.  Well, they’ll eventually pay for it.  

Years from now they’ll be sitting in the next chair getting their gray roots done, complaining about their poor feet.  By that time I’ll be wearing fuzzy moccasins and gellin’ with Dr. Scholl’s pads.  They’ll ask me, the lady who looks like she’s been ridden hard and put up wet, (southern phrase) “What can I do about my aching feet?”

“I don’t know, sister.  How ‘bout you take out that smart phone of yours and Google ‘Easy Rider’.” 

STOP