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Do you know how to walk in stilettos? I think a lot of people don’t realize that it’s a learned skill. Girls don’t just put on stilettos and know how to walk in them. Someone has to tell you to feel like a string is pulling the top of your head to the sky, and you have to learn to put one foot exactly in front of the other and swing your hips instead of your legs. Once you walk well in stilettos, you can walk gracefully in anything. You can wear sneakers or flip-flips or snow boots and people will still turn and look and think, “wow”. Maybe in the snow boots, they won’t think “elegance” but that’s what a girl in stilettos has.

She walks toward him naked, barefoot, and she still has that high-heeled walk. She wears big, steel-toed, clunky combat boots when she goes out at night and she still has that walk. Maybe she has to think about it a little to always walk perfectly, but she practices whenever she remembers. And walking like that makes her feel radiant, like sex appeal is beaming out of her skin like sunshine in the arctic summer.

It’s too bad everything else isn’t as simple as stilettos. She walks around life, knowing that as long as she keep her composure, keeps her abs tight and her self light while she walks, she won’t fall over, won’t embarrass herself, won’t break an ankle or a heel or a heart. She can’t always remember, though. Sometimes she forgets and the potholes come get her: does he still love me? Am I ever going to know what I’m doing in my life? Why am I afraid of losing 10 lbs? Why do I think about myself so often?

And she breaks down, and she can’t do that beautiful, graceful walk. She slumps and she looks ungainly and awkward. She walks over to find something to distract her, something to sit down with so she doesn’t have to keep walking, doesn’t have to keep embarrassing herself by not looking smooth and unruffled and perfectly composed. She doesn’t like people to see that side, because she’d rather not admit that it’s there.

But he sees it, and he tells her not to worry, to smile for him, please baby, smile for me. Because maybe he’s macho but it’s hard for him too. And she cleans up, and they part ways, and they say they’ll meet up later, but they don’t. That’s all she has of him.

She’s full of doubt. She hears him say “I love you, I miss you” but she’s not sure whether he means the whole her. Maybe he can’t deal with her when she’s awkward and ungainly and so very imperfect. She doesn’t know whether he just loves her when she’s sexy and funny and graceful, or whether he loves her even when she’s not.

And this is exactly the kind of thing she can’t ask him. Because she’s not sure she’d rather have the wrong answer than no answer. So she calls him, and she hears his voice, and she falls again.


One Comment

  1. Trust, trust, trust, trust, trust.

    Good luck.

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