High Heels~

I love my high heels. I love the way they make me feel as I click-clack down the sidewalk almost like they are announcing my imminent arrival. I love the way they make me think my ass looks better, even if they really don’t. I like the extra height they give me so I can look over most of a crowd and catch the eye of the tall, dark strangers without any short girls getting in my way. They make me feel confident, sexy, and powerful.

The problem with this is that I am fairly tall to begin with at five foot eight. When I add heels, I am taller than probably more than half of the men that I run into. If I am being very honest, this typically makes them less attractive at first glance although I am not so shallow that I would write them completely off – or tell them that. But in my brain, where I keeping a running commentary to myself, tall guys definitely get bonus points. And if they look hunky enough to be able to pick me up and throw me somewhere, then they could probably have extra toes and I would still be interested. Sadly, these guys are few and far between. And now I have irritated the rest of the male population and I am probably going to get hate mail from every shorter, skinnier guy out there. Don’t be offended. It really isn’t my fault. Biology is really to blame here. Somewhere in my genetic code, passed on from ancient generations of Norwegians, Polacks, and a smattering of French women – is a survival mechanism drawing me to the biggest, toughest hunter-gatherer. And I am just not strong enough to fight it.

Thus, high heels are kind of one of my secret weapons in the dating war…err…world. Not only do they provide tactical advantages of making me stand out a bit and be able to assess a room easily, they also quickly illustrate the men that don’t make my genetic code sit up and dance. I did have one failure with this test where I thought a man was appreciating my heels, but he was actually just eyeing up my legs. I gave him a few too many chances and he ended up whining every time I wore anything taller than flats. I would have avoided some drama if I would have listened to my inner Norwegian ancestor that was telling me to go find someone that was not intimidated by my sexy shoes.

In all seriousness, that is what is really important. I would put aside biology and date someone that couldn’t throw me over his shoulder – as long as he wasn’t insecure about not being that guy. If a man can’t handle a tall, strong woman standing next to him without feeling inadequate or whiny – then he just isn’t the man for me. No matter what his height. Thankfully, at the moment this is a non-issue. Jack is tall and hunky...and he appreciates my high heels.