|STOP MOCKING ME!|
Here’s the thing, I am not a woman who is overly concerned with her footwear since I prefer barefoot. I figure if I was meant to spend my life with my feet sequestered inside canvas and leather solitary confinement, then I wouldn’t have been born with ¼ inch thick leather on the soles of said feet. But, since “shirt and shoes required” seems to be the norm around these parts, I am forced to own at least one pair.
|Hey, at least they don't smell|
as bad as they look!
That would be where the pouting and profuse use of foul language began.
Since whatever-we’re-calling-it-this-month (still holding at Unspecified Mixed Connective Tissue Disease) has decided to turn random leg muscles into week-old Jell-O, I have a specific list of requirements for my mandatory footgear to insure I don‘t trip or end up face-down, kissing the pavement anymore than I already do.
Potential shoes must:
#1- be light weight to avoid extra muscle fatigue
#2- NO heel whatsoever
#3- must fit snugly and NOT flop around
#4- must be able to wear with warm socks to avoid issues with Ra-Na’s
This list pretty much rules out any and all shoes that could be remotely called attractive. So last year I came up with a plan. If desirable shoes would not find me, I’d make the darn things! (OK, I wouldn’t make the SHOES, I’d just make them desirable.)
Since last year I went with iron-on patches that were actually super-glued on (have you ever tried to iron a shoe? Yeah, it doesn’t work so well. Rubber things melt when accidentally touched with a hot iron. Who knew?) this year I decided to get all brave and dig out the acrylic paints.
So, I present to you the World’s first ever Super Slug shoes!
“Why the holy-heck are you telling us about your goofy shoes,” you ask? Because I can! .
OK, not really (much). It’s because simple things we all take for granted can become a serious pain in the arse when you have glitches. And it can get down-right depressing at times to want something as run-of-the-mill as a new pair of shoes only to be faced with these stupid limitations.
So get creative. Think out-side of the box. Go for broke and find a way to OWN the limitations!
“But finger paints were my limits,” you say. .
|Much snazzier when they were new...|
As much as it pains me to say I have limits (that I SO wish I didn’t have!), I’ve decided that limits are only as limiting as I allow them to be.
I may never wear another pair of thick-heeled, zip-up, faux biker boots again, *deep sigh* but I CAN wear the coolest, most unique pair of cheap, men’s canvas sneakers my twisted brain can come up with.
How do you guys deal with limitations? (Even it the only limitation is the limit on your MasterCard.)