Addicted to Heels
My first pair of heels came from a grocery store – I was 2 years old and those pink plastic sparkly heels were all I ever wanted. I begged, I pleaded, let’s be honest, I even cried. 
My mom finally caved and I wore them home. The sad news is I didn’t make it inside my house before I fell – right on our driveway – giving myself a 3-inch gash on the elbow that left a scar I still admire proudly. Mom took those heels away that very same day. I’ve been trying to make up for the loss ever since.
But, at the age of 20, I still hadn’t developed my “sea legs,” missing the last step in a long set of stairs while wearing a jean skirt, a leather jacket and a sexy pair of black 3-inch wedge heels. 
As the cast was removed from my ankle 8 weeks later, I vaguely remember the doctor firmly instructing me to avoid wearing high heels. One week later, I tossed the air cast aside and went on a hot date in a hot pair of heels. I was able to follow my hair stylist’s instructions about taking prenatal vitamins for hair growth, but a man with a medical degree doesn’t impress me – at least not enough to get rid of my shoes.
With a collection of heels that concerns most people, I’ve discovered that there is only one thing better than leaving a store with a bag of shoeboxes, and that’s having the boxes show up right at your front door. I’m a girl that refuses to get on the back of a motorcycle unless Hugh Jackman is driving it. Yet you’ll find me in the produce aisle wearing stilettos. After a broken ankle and a few scars, I do have to wonder which is really more dangerous – a Harley Davidson or my favorite Steve Madden’s? I guess I like to live life dangerously. And I’m not the only one. Faith Hill once said, “I perform in heels – can’t get my mojo without them.” Marilyn Monroe said, “I don’t know who invented high heels, but all women owe him a lot.” Agreed.
My girlfriends are baffled with my courage to wear high heels on a night out. Aside from the hazards of slipping on spilt beer or drinking too much beer and slipping in general, with heels on I stand about 6 feet tall. And since I don’t live in Holland, this usually leaves me staring at the top of every guy’s head all night long. But maybe this actually makes it easier – I can narrow down my options to the only guys I’m able to make eye contact with.
One thing is certain, various injuries and short men aside, this season’s shoes are reason enough to hold on to my addiction. From gladiator heels, to straps covered in zipper embellishment and studs, to hot pink and yellow slingbacks, peep toes in floral prints and patent round toe nude heels. It’s high heel heaven.
What can I say? I’m in love. And when you know, you just know.
