Okay – you’re pretty. Very pretty. And I have spent a lot of money on you. I’ve tried to make you happy.
But it’s over. I’m sorry. I know this has come out of the blue for you.
The moment I saw you I knew I had to have you. I tried to walk away and distract myself with one of those fancy, inside-out California rolls with orange caviar on the outside, but it didn’t work. I popped a double-mint Extra and made my way back to you.
The days I got to bring you home were some of the happiest days of my life.
But sadly, there aren’t enough Band-Aids in the world to fix our relationship and trust me, I’ve tried them all.
No, Band-Aids aren’t the right metaphor in this particular case. If only – then maybe we would still have a shot.
Let’s run through my grievances. You’ll probably spot a theme:
- Torn skin under my ankles.
- Torn skin on my pinkie toe.
- Blisters, everywhere. Yes, you can get a blister on the top of your big toe.
- Pain, incredible pain.
- A sore lower back.
- An unnatural gait.
- The time I fell over in the middle of an intersection and it was all your fault.
- The time I slipped over at a shopping centre and once again, it was all your fault.
And you can’t accuse me of not trying. I tried. For 20 years I’ve tried. I’ve tried the aforementioned Band-Aids, I’ve tried gel heels, I’ve tried buying a size bigger, then I’ve tried buying a size smaller. I’ve tried practicing at home, I’ve tried moisturising my feet, then I stopped moisturising my feet so the skin could toughen.
I’ve concluded that as much as I would like to say, “It’s not you, it’s me”, I’ve finally come to the conclusion that it’s you. It’s all you.
Look, you can’t help being who you are. You’re high heels, for goodness sake. You are beautiful and everyone wants you. I know you’ve tried to change. You’ve tried to be more comfortable, you’ve tried not to give me blisters, but you can’t help who you are.