The High Heels Experiment

I had an interesting conversation with a person we can call X about high heels once. I’ll spare you the details but the bottom line is, I said (according to X), that I only wear heels if I’m getting…err…. laid. I remember saying something about getting something in return, but that’s a pointless argument. Let’s focus on the fact that I generally don’t wear high heels often. Until recently, I had one black pair that served all high heel purposes. I would not wear them to club because I like to dance without the possibility of an ankle injury. I would not wear them to work because…well…. no reason actually. I just believed that high heels (like mini skirts) are inventions by men to slow us down (another argument for another time).

I know you’re wondering about the experiment. Patience!

So. Miss No Heels Ophelia had one pair of heels, stowed away because she never wore them ever (except weddings. I love weddings…*sigh*) yet, last week, she decided to wear heels everyday for 5 days. Yes. Me. If you met me looking like a giant, saw me almost tipping over in them (although they aren’t that high), or something like that, now you know the reason. I recently acquired a diary, so I decided to jot down the experience.

Day 1

I want to start on a high note so the heels are worn with a short dress and more make up than usual. I get comments ranging from: “What’s wrong???” (With concerned look) to “Wow! You look…. *confused look*…. gorgeous!” (I was hurt by the surprise in some people’s voices). In the evening, I had to go to town, and I finally appreciated the role of pavements. There were some moments when I was strutting like I owned the whole town, but mostly, I had to try not to fall, while still holding my head up the way I was taught. Suffice to say it was no easy feat.

Day 2

I don’t usually wear dresses (there’s another experiment I should try), so Day 2 took me back to my pants. I got lifts and took bodas all day so I didn’t go through the pavement suffering. Just when I was thanking the heavens for the gift of bodas, it happened. The rain. Have you ever been hit by the rain on a boda? More importantly, have you ever tried running to a dry spot in heels? That was not a good day. No, I don’t want to talk about it.

Day 3:

I was traumatised by the rain experience. I cleaned the heels, but passed them up for comfortable shoes when it was time to leave the room.

Day 4:

I wore the heels again.

(The contents of this entry are censored)

Day 5:

Today is my version of Monday. I wore the crisp white shirt and short black skirt with the heels. I have not felt more like a lawyer. And this includes the few times I have submitted cases authoritatively at the front in class. I had a birthday thing with the girls and got all the “How come you’re dressed like this on a Friday???” questions. Smiled sweetly and said I had nothing else to wear.

Lessons learnt?

Heels are good for confidence but bad for rain. And it’s good to get something in return for the effort (this includes, but is not limited to a couple of pleasantly surprised looks.) I am stowing them away again, but they will reappear every once in a while. I am a pro at walking in them now.

Letter to my Valentine

My Valentine, 

February isn't just the month of love for us. It's OUR month. It's the month I was born. It's the month you were born. It's the month I asked you out. It's a month of hope, of beauty, of dreams coming true. 

Our love never came easy. Maybe that's why we cherished and nourished it while we had it. We marvelled at the fact that we were lucky enough to be able to hold on to each other, while others fell apart. I remember telling you fervently one night:

"I'm afraid. I fear that like them, we'll stumble and fall, and never get up again. But that's okay too. I am grateful just to have made you happy, to have brought you laughter."

I believed it then. Yet living like this, has made me realise I was wrong.

I remember how we met. I remember the blouse you wore. Scarlet. How can I forget? You named me Scarlet when I told you I had no middle name. Scarlet. Like Scarlett Johansson, our joint celebrity crush. 

I remember your eyes that day. Sad. 

I remember the book you were reading. Khalid Hossini's "A Thousand Splendid Suns". 

I remember the confusion, the stress it put on both of us, just to be together. I remember being unsure, and then more certain than I had been in my entire life.

I remember your anger at all the ones who had hurt you before. I remember slowly replacing it with jokes about their flaws, so that they faded in comparison to us. 

I remember asking you: 

"Can't you see??? Can't you see that I won't go away? Don't you know that I can't stay away??" 

I remember you in my bed. So beautiful, it made my heart ache. I remember you opening up like a flower. I remember when your kisses turned desperate. I can still see your bosom rising and falling with your satisfied sighs afterwards. I remember every inch of your body. The dimple hiding somewhere on your thigh instead of being on your cheek. The smooth skin. Your intoxicating scent. I remember worshipping your body for hours, drunk on you. 

Again this February, I have to ask. Can't you see? Can't you see that we have to be together? Can't you see that your boyfriend doesn't know how you like your chicken, but I do? Can't you see that you were made to be cherished and teased...not mauled by rough impatient hands? Can't you see? Can't you see that and come back to me? 

Come back. You know I will never do you no wrong. And if ever I do, I'll go to the US and get you Scarlett Johansson, just so you can forgive me. You know I'll never stop loving you. And if I ever do, it will be because I'm an idiot. You know I'll do anything you ask, if you say it will make you happy. Come back. Let's go make memories to recount in bed on lazy Sunday mornings, laughing until we cry.

Let me cook for you every weekend. Let me bring you a new book every week to keep you awake at night while I sleep off my long days' stress. Let me look up jokes on the internet that I think you will like. Let me make your large bright eyes sparkle with laughter every morning. Let me read you cheesy poetry at night while you laugh from my melodramatic actions. Let me fall asleep knowing you're safe. 

Come back. 

Me.