I hate high heels. They're not for me. That didn't stop me from wearing them last night. I was actually excited when I bought them. I planned on looking glamorous as I wore them to a nice dinner Jason and I had been invited to.

It's now hours and two sore calf muscles later. My disdain for high heels has been renewed. Here are a few reasons why I refuse to wear them again.

They're a lie. I'm really not that tall. I wear them in hopes that I'll look more slender and classy than I really am. The most honest thing about them was the heel that was mud-caked from my short cut through the hotel lawn to reduce the number of painstaking steps back to the car.

They're also restricting. In addition to wearing heels, I wore a pencil skirt (also unnatural-I'm really shocked at myself for knowing the term "pencil skirt"). I shuffled in tiny steps like a penguin in a kimono.

Graceless. Confined.

With my own kind of shoes I've been told I'm a lady on a mission. I move with purpose.

Did I mention they're horribly uncomfortable? They were size sevens. There will probably, in the next few days, be some fashionista looking for a pair of size sevens at the store where I bought them. And they'll be gone.  Seven is a popular shoe size. 

It will be somebody named Jessica or Tara looking for them; someone who loves wearing heels that can chase taxi cabs or dogs on the loose while wearing them.

Some people look fabulous in heels. They were made for them. I vow to adore the "high heel wearers" unjealously.

I want to be comfortable in my own skin. Comfortable in my own shoes.

Honest.

Natural.

Real.

Being a flip-flop girl, with toes exposed I'm walking on. I'll be more steady. I'll be more- me.

What kind of shoes are totally "you"?

Tomorrow is Thursday.  Have any thoughts to share? Send them to kristiburden@gmail.com

Don't know what "A Thursday for Your Thoughts is"? Click here. http://kristiburden.com/?p=2387