Holly's Red Stilettos
My student loan debt from college and grad school is pretty close to the number of Joan Rivers’ cosmetic surgeries. So, I can barely afford to spend money on much of anything, let alone fancy, expensive shoes.
I do, however, have this one pair of red stilettos I bought for $60 on my 21st birthday. They remind me of Dorothy’s Ruby Slippers sans the glitter. How appropriate.
On my way to restaurant reviews and interviews in Manhattan, I always would get lost while reading the map on my BlackBerry, wishing a click of my heels could transport me back to Grand Central.
But since I hate to pay for transportation; I walk. You could only imagine what happens when I decide to hail a taxi. Picture it: as I watch the Jimmy Choo-clad catwalkers hop into the first cab they see, my heel gets stuck in a metal subway grate, then my foot slides out of the shoe and into a puddle of garbage juice. Why do I always feel like the klutzy underdog in a tween comedy?
Even with one leg about a centimeter shorter than the other, I have trained myself to run in these shoes, sometimes in the rain to catch my train, and other times, on cracked sidewalks and up hills—in serious pain. You can hear me coming from a mile away, the hollow clock-clock heel sound against the pavement.
These slightly scuffed, toe-squashing, three-and-a-half-inch cockroach killers (as my mother jokes), have become my trademark. They represent my uniqueness, my fiery Sicilian temper and my feminine pride. They shield me from the short-girl complex, too.
Despite the amoeba-like blisters these pumps have left on my feet, I’ll never throw them away.
I may walk down some crazy, twisted paths in life, but at least I’ll be wearing my favorite shoes.
xoxo