Feet

Seriously?  It's not something I ever thought about as a young woman, I think I took it for granted that the array of high heel beauties would always be available to me.

I remember being a little girl and trying to slip on my mother's high heel shoes.  I couldn't wait to be old enough to fill them.  I loved everything about them, not only how they looked but the wonderful sound they made as they struck a hard surface.

Last Saturday as I meandered through a local shoe department I spotted a pretty pair of camel coloured heels.  I wasn't in the market for a pair but I thought it would be fun to try them on just for size.

Imagine my shock and horror as I pulled down a pair of size 9's (thinking I was being more than generous since I used to be a size 8 prior to the birth of my offspring) only to feel like the ugly stepsister, Drizella, from the children's book Cinderella.

I checked the box and the inside of the shoe numerous times, perhaps it was actually a 6?  After all 6 and 9 can be easily confused.  Damn those little lines that underscore each number to avoid confusion!

Is this a cruel joke or is this nature's way of weeding out the weak?  A way to keep us elderly folks safe from breaking an ankle or a hip while teetering around on those 4 inch spikes?  Maybe Mother Nature knows best but I'm not liking the fact that my foot resembles the width of a cinder block.  Is this what's referred to as the middle age spread?

I used to look at older ladies and their Tender Tootsie footwear and think 'that will never be me' ... and now, sadly, I realize their choice is not only for comfort but also because they have been put into a category where all choices are no longer available to them.  I can almost feel the glare of Abercrombie & Fitch ... how dare we try to be fashionable.

And so I tread softly into my fifties with my crocs and sensible shoes, just another marker on my journey into this Half Century Club.