July 30, 2007

Suffer for Fashion

I never realize I've made a bad fashion decision until it's too late to change it. It usually hits me when I step out of the car and start walking into work. And that's because these bad decisions generally involve the shoes I'm wearing.

These boots weren't made for walkin'!  Har har.I have shoes that develop a sudden squeak only when I walk in the quiet hallways by my office. Then I spend the rest of the work day trying to find the perfect walking mode to reduce the squeaking. If I curl my toes just so, and favor the right leg slightly...

Squeaking is not as bad as blistering. I'm sure my feet are permanently scarred from the repeated beating they take in that vein. Summer sandals can be worse than winter boots, bare-skinned toes rubbing against leather and every step accompanied by a silent scream of pain. It must be violating the dress code to wear shoes so uncomfortable that one is compelled to remain at her desk without venturing out for food, water, or file folders.

Even more dangerous is the real possibility of falling flat on my face while wearing the unfortunate pair of shoes with traction-free soles. This also requires quick thinking. First, I try scoring the soles with a box cutter from my desk. Then I have to calculate which floor surfaces must be completely avoided. The carpeted area around my desk is safe. The tiled hallways by my office are moderately safe, but I'll need to walk slowly. The faux marble flooring on the first floor is dangerous, only an option in an emergency. The cafeteria is ruled out completely for the day. Also, I make a mental note to watch out for the slippery spot in front of Human Resources. It's unbelievably ironic that the OSHA lawsuit is going to come from that spot right by HR.

I won't even talk about the slew of issues regarding appropriate heel height, pant lengths and heel height, open toe vs. closed toe, yea/nay on stockings, &c.

Fashion above the ankles is at least as large an issue. I sympathize with George in the Seinfeld episode where his suit pants go swoosh every time he takes a step. Darn corduroy! I once wore this white tunic to work, and I swear that I kept waiting for heavenly music to play and the backlight to come on behind me, so I could say "I am an angel sent by God with a message..."

Touched by an Angel
Enough blasphemy for today.

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