Last night the Riveter posse loaded up and hit the Social Distortion show at the Mesa Theater. It was a sold-out show and the place was hopping (but I have to say that Bret's crowd packed the front of the stage for the entire night).
Being the Riveter girls that we are, we got ourselves all gussied up, hooker shoes 'n' all — which seemed like a good idea at the time.
There were two opening bands and then Mike Ness et al. took the stage and rocked the hizzouse.
Man, they were good.
Bill and I worked our way to the front of the stage because that's where I want to be ... where the action's at. I clung to the rail as Bill deflected the moshers away. Ah, good times.
But as the night wore on, my feet wore down.
Four inch heels just ain't as comfortable as you'd think. And because I'm just not that smart, I agreed to stop at the Quincy briefly to check out local no-coast punk rock band, Loaded. 45, after the show. Our ride had to head home, so I nonchalantly insisted, "Oh, we'll just walk home."
I mean, we live downtown precisely so we can walk home. But walking home in platform stilettos after four hours of steady rockin' is an excruciating proposition.
I made it all the way across the street from the bar when I moaned in pain and took off my shoes. But the pain persisted and was exacerbated by the hard, pebbley ground.
Fear not, I'm married to a man that still believes in chivalry.
Bill quickly took off his Docs and passed them on to me.
So there I was slopping down the street in big Dr. Marten's while Bill walked along sock footed and carrying my hooker shoes.
So the moral that I'm gleaning from this story is that hooker shoes are for hookers who have pimps to give them rides home.
3 comments:
Keep that pimp hand strong, Bill!
-Tracee
Holy crap this is the truth! I try them on in the store and they are "oh so hot" and they aren't uncomfortable at all because of the platform. The lies we tell ourselves...
I'm a police officer and once during a case in state court I saw a defense lawyer using "hooker shoes" during a trial, small skirt and all, during FOUR days. You could really tell the jury was not paying attention at her words AT ALL, only to the balancing act her chubby legs and ugly toes were doing on a pair of four or five-inch shoes. After the veredict (she lost the case) the judge told her in open court to dress appropriately and not to use "stripper shoes" ever again in her courtroom (yes, the judge was a woman) and that she did not say it before not to create an impression on the jury. The lawyer was all mad calling the judge sexist and ignorant, that she was a fashionista and the judge was just jealous ... it was quite an event and people were just laughing. You could tell the lawyer must have felt embarrased. The judge just called order and said something I'll never forget and often tell my daughters: if you want to ruin your back and feet in the name of fashion, fine, be my guest and behave like a sheep, spending money on back-destroying devices just because someone called it fashion, but when you enter my courtroom you behave and dress like a reputable attorney, not a hooker defending her pimp.
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