We’ve All Been There: The Pain of Stilletos
[It doesn’t matter what school you go to, what state it is in, how big it is, whether it is public or private, all girls or coed…there are experiences that all college students share.
No matter how crazy you think your personal situation is, it is not just you. So, let’s bring it all out in the open. Right here. Because you are not alone - we’ve all been there before.]
It’s Friday (or Saturday, Sunday…or any day that ends in “y”) and you are gonna hit the town with the ladies. You crack a beer and sip it in front of your closet as you figure out which low cut top and jeans to wear. The stereo in your room is blasting a little Lady Gaga to get you in the mood. Once you are dressed and properly accessorized, you gather your friends together for a little pre-party dance party.
Soon it’s time to go, so you throw on your favorite pair of going-out stilettos and make your way to the party. They aren’t comfortable, but you convince yourself that by the time they start hurting you will be too drunk to notice.
You walk to the party, holding hands with your BFF and having the “I love you so much” conversation that only happens when you are 3-4 drinks in. Upon arriving at the gathering, you make your way to the keg and fill up your red Solo cup. And the night officially begins.
There is dancing, there is drinking, there are laps around the room to see just which cute boys you may want to flirt with.
And then the pain sets in.
As you stand in a corner chatting it up with a friend of a friend of a friend, your baby toe starts to feel as though it is going to fall off. You switch your weight to the other foot. And then back to that foot.
You dig your heels into the ground and attempt to push your foot back in the shoe. You lean to the right and slip your left foot out of the pump. You try to drink a bit more to numb the pain.
But each attempt only offers momentary relief.
You can think of nothing else but the pain; nothing the cute boy is saying is registering. All your attention is focused on finding a band-aid or some place to sit. Too bad this party doesn’t have toilet paper, let alone benches for resting your aching tootsies.
You consider taking off your shoes completely before looking at the beer soaked floor and thinking better of it. You’ll just have to deal.
And you do. You sort of hop/hobble around the party, pausing frequently to readjust your feet in the shoes. You curse yourself for not opting for flats when you had the chance.
When it is finally time to head home, you wonder if you’ll even make it. Sometimes, if your friends also made unfortunate shoe choices, you can convince everyone to hop in a cab (even if that cab ride is 3 blocks). Usually, though, you are forced to suck it up and limp home in pain, 20 yards behind everyone
else because you can’t move any faster.
You kick the shoes off as soon as you get in the door – or, if it’s bad enough, as soon as you can see your door in the distance – and rub your ailing feet. The blisters have already formed and will probably plague you for a week. You swear you are never going to wear those things again, but you know that’s not true. They look so good with your skinnies and make your legs look a mile long.
Those blisters will clear up in time for next weekend. And then you’ll do it all again.