8 inch heels

And again, now I remember something else. I realise why it felt so bad yesterday on Christmas Day. I inadvertently pulled down the iron shutters on the outside world. Because I couldn't very well take the little people running down my street laden with presents as they made their way to their nanna's. And I couldn't very well let myself see their immaculate, airbrushed mums trying to balance themselves on something like 8 inch heels, with or without their husbands in accompaniment. That is not a problem for me. But there I go, of course seeing a couple together is not a problem, because I have all that. Although on Christmas Day I always say a silent prayer to the one who left so suddenly only to return in my dreams. But I've made my way through that, so now I don't give it much thought. That's the beauty of life and the way it changes us and others. So I can take 8 inch heels, 6 inch heels, knee high leather boots dangerously balanced on mean-looking heels. I can also take the war paint, that's easy, it only takes me a 15 minutes to create that. It should also take me 15 minutes or less to create a something else, but it never happens. And I am resigned to it, I don't spend a 15 minutes crying for what is not to be. It's not to be so it's over and done with. And I am one who will really never cry about shoes, I have so very many, one would think I have a foot fetish (which I don't). But when the 8 inch heels, no matter how dangerously balanced are taking baby steps so as to make sure the owner doesn't fall and so as to make sure that the little person, also dangerously balanced on a hand keeps defying the gravitational pull, well that's another story. And now I realise that I am, not intentionally, being a Silas Marner. But even Silas was sent a little Eppie. It seems that all through European literature, people who have had an unlucky blow in life have closed their hearts to the world. And that is understandable, I would have done the same. But then all through this literature, it's always the little people sent from God knows where who manage to open the hearts of those who have turned against life. And these little people do not walk on 8 inch heels. Somehow I am remembering a lot of things, and actually am surprised that I didn't grow bitter. Perhaps it was through sheer hard work of my own, perhaps because it was destined to be that way. But I do not want to be the girl who looks on wistfully on a scene which includes 8 inch heels and a little person. Or two little persons at that. I have gone through all of my childhood photo albums and yes I've seen how cute I was (who isn't at that age anyway?), but I've also seen the happiness of my mum in dangerous platforms and micro skirts (it was the 70's), and my happy dad with huge sideburns and hippy clothes. I guess I will never understand. But perhaps my profession helps me to function, and very well. Because I don't see many 8 inch heels. Although I see a lot of little people. But they're safely away from the heels and mostly into sensible school shoes.