In My Oma’s Shoes

June 7, 2012

in How to be a Housewife, OldSchool

Heels are to women in my family what air is to lungs. We just can’t function without them. Not that we need an enormous amount of them. A few reliable pairs, and then a few fun ones to dress up in. And a pair of high heel boots. And maybe a summer wedge. And a nude pair to go with everything. And a silver pair. And a red pair.

Regardless. We have to have heels. And they have to be heels. A measly 1.5 inches just isn’t going to cut it.  We max out around 5’3″, so anything less than a two inch heel just isn’t going to allow us to see over the counter at the bank.

I’m sure I put on my mother’s heels long before I could actually fit into them. But my first actual memory of wearing heels is with my Oma. She always wore heels. Standing up at a cashier’s booth in Safeway for 8-12hr shifts 5-7 days a week, she’d wear her heels. Running errands on her days off, she’d wear her heels. Going across the street to check in on a neighbor, she’d wear her heels. If the woman was stepping out of her house, you knew she’d have on at least two things: her lipstick and her heels.

Oh how I envied her. She looked smashing in her heels. Pop always said she had the greatest gams around, and the moment she slipped on those heels, no one could argue it. And those extra two inches? Well. As a prepubescent girl still waiting for that final growth spurt that never actually happened, I was positively green with envy of those extra inches.

But there came a day, in the middle of our local mall, when Oma declared that she simply could not go another step. Her feet were killing her. In the pet store. With her high-heeled shoes.

I couldn’t, for the life of my Tamigachi, understand how on earth she wasn’t walking on cloud 9. I mean, really, she was walking in Heels. ALL. DAY. LONG. Wasn’t that the ending of every girl’s fairy tale come true?

As she perched on the end of the nearest vinyl-covered bench and peeled off her heels, I came to a slow realization. She and I wore the same size shoe.

It was fate.

And after she laughingly accepted my earnest offer to switch shoes with her, I slipped my foot into the imprint of hers within the sole of her heels, and took a few confidently wobbly steps towards the food court.

It’s a miracle I didn’t break an ankle. Not that I’d have cared. I was wearing heels. On both feet. Out in public. And I swore, right then and there, that I’d do whatever it took to never, ever, wear anything else again.

{ 1 comment }

NSC June 8, 2012 at 9:06 am

Hows that working out for you now? LOL

Being also a person of short stature, I too adore heels. However, my feet disagree, and tend to rebel short periods after I slide them on. Even working a desk job.

Of course, it might help if I bought QUALITY heels, instead of whatever is on sale at target this week. (FYI…wedges…TOO DIE)

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