![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKBE5fSlQhGJDhwFSOw_am2dfGXDv_DvMKeuJLmav1GT5biZ388Xn-GAhj5ZyDOLHma-ZB48uEtalavbFy3WaY0pDoBBcb1EmcUbjAELjwbj_0ANXlLAhPu7Ilx0gh1-kVAsDG/s320/sneakers.jpg)
For the last ten years - minimum - my feet have been subject to severe torture on account of my refusal to not wear heels.
Given the fact that I'm a Dutch girl, I'm not very tall: 1.68 meters, or about5.5 feet. Sadly, most of that length consists of torso, not leg. Ergo: since I was 18, I've been wearing heels. Mostly high heeled boots, but also pumps, peeptoes and all of the other gorgeous but painful footware out there.
Recently, we went to the zoo with some friends. Because I didn't want to uncomfortably try to rest my feet every 5 minutes by sitting on the small walls enclosing the animals' habitats, I bravely decided to go stumpy legged for a day. So I put on the sneakers I normally only wear in the gym.
What a fine day it was! I felt like I could keep on walking all day. While driving back I even sort of missed the burning sensation I normally would have had after a day in the zoo. Or mall. Or at work. Or wherever. I would even wear heels to the beach. For real.
The zoo was about a week ago now. The sneakers have barely been off my feet. It's a shame I'll have to get back to wearing high heeled shoes again.
Because in the end, pretending not to have short legs beats comfort's ass everytime.
(Picture by tcindustry.com)