Last weekend was filled with open houses here and there, and dressing up to those events meant wearing nice heels.
Nice heels = 4-5 inches high = just walk slowly and smile.
Suddenly at work, I felt a sharp pain at my hips.
Uh-oh, I thought.
I know this pain. I’ve heard of this pain. I dreaded the day this pain would come.
It was so painful that I couldn’t cross my legs. It was so painful that I had to sit down.
Could it be because of…….No!, I dismissed the thought. It can’t be because of that. It just can’t.
But no matter how I denied it, I know the truth. It was because of that.
Oh crap. I’m too young for this!
I guess beautiful high heels come with two kinds of price tags. The first price tag is the one that kills your heart via your depleting bank balance. The second price tag is the one that attacks your back and hips.
I always thought the first one was more painful, but omg, the second price is no joke. Once your back is painful, the whole day is ruined because you have no mood to do anything but lie down. No wonder Victoria Beckham doesn’t smile! It’s not because she’s hungry, she’s just in too much pain!!
My mom called the urut lady to come to massage me.
Aahhh yes, I really needed this. I’ve been facing the laptop at work for far too long, my shoulders are as hard as rock. You can throw a cookie at them, the cookie will just break.
So there I was, arms spread wide, big smile on my face as I lied face down ready to go into total relaxation mode in a few moments.
Boy, was I stupid.
This lady wasn’t your typical masseuse you get in hotels; you know, dainty, soft-spoken and couldn’t hurt a fly. This lady was hardcore black-belt I-will-make-mashed-potatoes-out-of-your-back-until-the-pain-goes-away.
What my friends will tell you is that I’m so fragile, I bruise like a peach…and I absolutely cannot stand even the slightest physical pain. Tell me I have to give birth, and I will cry.
I screamed when she pressed on my hips. She just pressed lightly on it and I squirmed like a worm. It was that bad.
Now, normal people would stop and wipe my tears and maybe get me a cup of tea or something. But not this iron lady. She just carried on chatting with Opah about nonsense, mouth moving but fingers still poking at the painful points, obviously not entertaining my taufoofa ways. She even shoosh-ed me at one point. WAAAHHH!! Opah also another one! No mercy!
I guess it’s their way of saying “I TOLD YOU SO.”
I guess I deserved it for being so stubborn.
For now, my heels (oh gorgeous gorgeous heels, Mommy loves you) are going to be kept in the shoe closet for a while. Stacked neatly, away from my eyes. It would be painful to watch them cry, all unloved and unworn.
I will be in flats and slippers for a while, for my health’s sake.
Well, unless there’s a dinner somewhere….or an event….or if I know I’m meeting someone really tall.
Meet the forefront of my flats collection, the leaders of the clan.