ELEGANT HIGH HEELS AND LADIES' EVENING WEAR

When it comes to shoes, women are like lemmings. Shoes are their one signal weakness.
Nothing, apparently, can twist a woman’s mind nearly as much; usually it's the only thing that twists it.
They're normal otherwise.

No, Imelda Marcos was not a fluke.

At an accident the other day between a car and a pedestrian, the injured party lying on the ground was female.
She was in intense discomfort – pain, probably – and the bystanders were deeply concerned.
From the crowd came an emotional feminine voice: “those shoes are gorgeous!”.
Which made the victim smile.

Personally, I couldn’t see it. I’ve always been much more interested in the feet than the shoes that they are in.
A nicely arched foot, soft and slightly plump after the elegant ankle, with cute little toes – girl, I want to hold the rest of you!

Okay, I’ll admit that a young lady wearing high-heeled pumps and nothing else except maybe some tasteful underwear is also extremely nice. Yeah, it’s the pumps.
Trust me, that’s ALL that I am looking at.
Good heavens, those heels are elegant. Oh yes.

But for an evening out – nice quiet little restaurant, mussels sauced with herbs, butter, and white wine, a sweet little pepper-crusted lamb chop with some sautéed chard – gorgeous heels and zesty gams, curves, glows, and soft spots aren't really called for.
Sweetheart, you do not want the cook to be distracted by your hot-as-blazes red Funtasmas (three inches, around thirty dollars – depends on where you shop).
Stop flashing your calves, or your curvaceous thighs. Put on something different.

A nice summer frock, for instance, or a pleated skirt. Crisp white shirt, a knit blazer, an elegant brooch, and you’re good to go.
And comfortable shoes.

Good footwear that does not torture the feet, that allows you to walk gracefully and without tripping, need not be ugly at all.
Such things can, in fact, be totally piss-elegant.

Unfortunately many women do NOT see it this way.
Instead of foot-hugging well-designed flats with proper arch support, they’ll hunt out the most spectacularly inappropriate furry boots, thigh hugging super slut go-gos, platform sandals, hard patent leather pumps, slingback wedges, high-buckle sequin foldovers, strap-ons, and thongs.

I can think of no better way to meet women than running a discount shoe store, and I’m willing to bet that both Blue Beard and the Secret Sex Cannibal have already done so. They know the magnetism of the merchandise!
Some women will walk by, and despite the stench of rotting corpses, they’ll take one look at the window display, happily squeal “shoes”, and stampede on in.


“What, Lucy is missing? Who cares, more shoes for us! You say Jaynelle is lying in the pumps aisle with her throat slashed? Meh, never did like her anyway, let’s take look at the shoes in her shopping basket.
There are screams coming from the back room? Grab more shoes, they’ll keep you from thinking about it!

Somebody made a blood sacrifice in front of the statue of Imelda Marcos? Do we know the victim? Oooooh, are those Ferragamos!?!??!?!?! Neat-o!”


See, that alone tells you that women are different.
Whenever there’s a riot, the Nike store gets looted, but never the Shoe Pavilion.

Women aren’t like men. Their heads may be screwed on all loopy, but they’re still a lot smarter – they'll never piss in their own back yard. They know that if you rob your favourite footwear boutique, very bad things will happen.


Remember that accident I mentioned earlier? I hung around till the poor woman was loaded into the ambulance. Just to make sure none of her sisters would quietly slip off her shoes on the pretext of letting her breathe or something.
I knew that that precise thought was going through their minds.

“She’s got a broken leg, surely she won’t need those four inch heels where she’s going?”

No, ma’am, were NOT shooting her – this isn’t the Old West, and that ain’t a horse.

I’m worried, though.
One of the ambulance men was a woman.
And the passenger was strapped in.
Dangerous situation.


TALKING DIRTY

Imagine me whispering the following lines of highly erotic free-verse into your delicate blushing ears:

Damsel Bootie three inch heel: $62.99
Five inch with suede upper and ruffled heel: $52.99
Gazelle leather knee-high loft boots: $78.99
High-heel Platform with glittered upper: $78.99

Lace-covered satin ankle strap high heel: $72.99
MaryJane four inch Stacked Heel: $99.99
Mini Platform Oxford, three inches: $51.99
Open Toe Stilletos: $24.99

Patent leather foldable flats: $19.99
Peep-toe slingback stilettos: $36.99
Pintucked flats: $28.99
Pointed Toe Snake Skin High Heels: $72.99

Rhinestone Strappy Pumps: $74.99
Round Toe four inch heels: $44.99
Scalloped edge four inch pump: $102.99
Silver sequin foldable flats: $21.99

Silver Thong heel-sandals: $16.99
Strapped two-tone with concealed platform: $64.99
Suede Slouchy Boots: $76.99
Temptress Moon Slip-on flats: $33.99

Textured Plum Pointed Toes: $52.99
Two inch pink patent leather platform pumps: $32.99
Vamp peep-toe Booties: $36.99
Wedge Peep Toes: $34.99

And, to really make you faint:

Bright Red Pumps: from $14.99 to $189.99!


I think you'll agree. That's way too much excitement. You're all limp.

Let's go have dinner. I know this great little restaurant, fabulous seafood, nice ambiance.
And long long table-cloths so that no one will notice that you're actually wearing SENSIBLE shoes.


You're looking quite feverish. Are you sure you're all right?
Let me take off those shoes - it'll help you breathe.


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SMELLING LIKE SALAD

Now the next subject is not something many of you will be familiar with.


ITCHING... CALVES!


Nope, nothing having to do with farmyards, OR cattle-tipping, alas.
Rather, something that some of you can look forward to when you are twenty years older than you are now.
Dry, itchy skin on your calves.


First, you must understand that good bath soap will inevitably dry out the skin - more on some parts of the body than others.

The skin is a sensitive organ, which often serves as your body's first line of defense. It produces oils, and is naturally slightly moist. Under normal circumstances you will not realize this or be aware of it - you probably don't think much about your skin, do you?

It never stopped thinking of you.


As you get older, the skin becomes less resilient, less responsive. And drier.

And at this point soap might become an issue.


You see, in colder weather, the circulation near the surface of the body kinda clamps down - exposure helps cool the body, and at this time of year you don't really want that to happen.
Your skin understands that. It realizes that you need to maintain body temperature, and it is still responsive. It loves you.

When circulation near the outer surface of the body lessens, the skin slows the production of its natural oils, and also that slight moistness, which you are unaware of.

The soap, in consequence, leaches out more than will be replaced over the next day.

And by the end of a cold week, the skin is almighty pissed (please remember that I mentioned it was 'responsive').


It has responded.



The skin of the calves has become a tormentation, which kept me up till nearly three o'clock last night.



ITCH, ITCH, ITCH, ITCH, ITCH, ITCH, ITCH!


Holy crap.


I'm not even gonna mention the hives which I occassionally also get (something growing out behind the building, my skin is allergic to - it angrifies the derma, and red welts arise).
I'm not going to say anything about the nasty huge raised red blotches, nor about having to take off my watch because the hives underneath are cutting off circulation and giving my left hand oedema. Or even about the hard pebbly surfaces that my wandering claws encounter when I scratch. Because all of this has faded into insignificance when compared to my burning calves.


This morning, before bathing, I anointed my calves with olive oil - marvelously soothing.


I highly recommend olive oil. It is also good for other minor surface ailments, and can used for cleaning out the ear, if gently applied with a cotton-tipped stick applicator or swab (cue-tip).

I smell like a salad.