But They're Fabulous

I got in the lift the other day with a girl from my floor. She had a very pained expression on her face, and she said "Ohh Ben, you should be soooo thankful that you're not a girl".

Somewhat fearful of where this might be heading, I cautiously replied "oh yeah?"

Wincing, she then directed my gaze down to the ridiculous stilt-like stilettos she had on. At the front they were narrow and strappy, so her toes were all purple and smooshed, contortionist-like.

An ill-placed toe ring was working as a crude blade to slice through both the little piggy who went to market, and the one who stayed home. Listening close, I could just hear them squealing.

The heels were propped up perilously high, and I got a sickening wave of vertigo with just a mere glance. The slant of her foot was propelling her forward like starting blocks, so she couldn't just stand still, but had to tap tap tap around the lift like one of those creepy people who walk on stilts.

Having absolutely no sympathy I said "Why are you wearing them if they hurt you?", in a gruff, fatherly tone.

"Well look at them", she said, gritting her teeth through the pain. "They're fabulous!"

I worry sometimes. I really do.