2006-11-30
I want Happy Feet
I watched Happy Feet today, which was awesome, especially when I received it with severe lack of anticipation (I haven't actually wanted to watch a movie so badly I could die in a long, long while.) But my very UN-happy feet, shall be the subject of this post.
So I was terribly excited about going out today, because on top of all the fun things to do, it meant a chance to put on my first ever pair of pretty heels (court shoes and boots don't count).What I didn't expect, was the experience to turn out more terrible than exciting.
MY FEET HURT!
After my mom decided to intervene with my shopping plans, all hopes for a savvy pair of slip on heels had to be painfully trampled on. She dug out my prom heels from last year - a glamourous pair of silvers worn only on two occassions with my gown, but nonetheless, accompanied by a very rude broken ankle strap (thanks to the ever dainty yours truly. I swear that woman stuck her foot out so I could trip on it!), and proceeded to co-erce me into some craft work.
Now, don't get me wrong. I am all about handicraft, being creative and unique, but not when I have to shelve my month-long shoe lust. Grr.
But I had to, so I snipped off the ankle straps, ruined and perfectly good, and turned them into a pretty pair of slippers. They looked so pretty I was almost hoodwinked into thinking that they were actually going to work.
Well, then again, for someone who blisters even in Kappa sports sandals.. But nobody likes to hear that it's their fault, even if it's true. ): (It is insane, and the worst case of mis-designing, that the softest skin on me should be on my FEET.)
The Wearing.
The trip to PS where I would meet J for lunch was fairly uneventful. I don't think many people noticed a little hobbling girl trying desperately to conquer her two-and-a-half-inch appendages. (yes, yes, 2.5" only. I very lousy can a not?!)
I might even have made it safely into the building, if not for the humungous stretch of whiteness called the Dhoby Ghaut MRT station. I stopped three times to patch my feet with plasters.
By the time I got down to lunching with Jon, my feet were hurting so badly my eyes were almost watering in sync with the blisters. I was so thankful for the food-and-company distraction I could've given 3 virgin sacrifices for the godsend. But of course, only after I was done worshipping the dining chairs.
And then, AND THEN, we had to WALK to Cathay, the Cineplex.
I think I wanted to die.
But I couldn't. I mean, that would have been completely unglam, wouldn't it?
We were stopped by a little boy (10 years tops) trying to sell us charity stubs.
"Just two dollars, ma'am!"
Ma'am! I'll engulf you in my wrinkles, you ignorant, blithering BABY.
"Just one dollar each from you and your boyfriend"
Hmm, okay. I forgive you for mistaking Mr Tall, Dark, Handsome as my boyfriend. Aw, you darling little thing!
Pointless exchange aside, I was almost ready to let my pair of heels inflict pain in way that would actually be useful to me. So you make me stand in this hellish animal traps, try to talk me into funding your fishy charity organization, and waste precious minutes that I needed to hobble to my already-starting movie! AAAAAAAARGH.
The little boy should thank his lucky stars that Jon decided to tell him very nicely that we were rushing for time. Very, very good job.
We finally got to the cinema, where I shall fast forward, because we already know what a great movie Happy Feet was.
I would dearly love to log in the rest of the day, but I think too much pain does something to one's memory.
Pretty shoes do nothing to give you pretty feet.
):
nothing ever happens at 3:55 p.m.