reduced down to a shoe
Marilyn Monroe said, "Give a girl the right shoes and she can conquer the world." Why is it that I resent that statement a bit? Is it because its counter part is "barefoot and pregnant"? Do I need a shoe to help me conquer things? Or why am I having to bear children if I am barefoot? This is where I admit that I am a masochist, a slave bound by the mystique and sheer power of the beautiful, sadistic little pump.
Aside from perpetual sore calves, scrunched toes, the occasional blister and back pain, there is also a feeling of regal elegance that no other accessory or garment can come close to replicating. Hell I'd wear heels with a bikini, or when I'm naked for that matter, just to feel the high (no pun intended, well maybe a little pun) that these unnatural contraptions unavoidably produce.
I mean hey, Cinderella sure got a sweet deal out of a pair of glass slippers. But wait, what she got was a man, and that really can not be the end all be all of what life has to offer a woman. If you know what is, please do comment and let me know because I'm on a quest to figuring it out. And don't say children...
What this post it about, is an incident from a few years ago when I attended a predominantly male, (a professional cock fest, if you will) networking meeting. I settled in and mentally prepared to mosey my way into an active conversation as I always do.
To set the scene, I was not only one of the few females in the room, but I was also significantly younger and likely shorter than most (because you know, 5 feet tall over here). I was also probably wearing the highest heels to boot (getting a little puny again). I remember trying to join a conversation between two, tall, older men who were enthusiastically discussing a Lamborghini. Who doesn't like a Lamborghini? Except the Countach, not really a fan of the Countach or its name for that matter.
I took my place in what looked like a neat little triangle and politely awaited for the right time to chime in. During a natural pause the two towering men looked down at me and one of them condescendingly said, "would you like to talk about shoes now?" I remained diplomatic, politely smiled at both of them and excused myself.
I was locked out of a conversation that to them was clearly over my head. A conversation I didn't even want to really participate in because they weren't even talking about a good Lamborghini, they were talking about the Countach. And to add insult to injury, I was basically reduced down to a shoe. I want to wear the shoe, not be the shoe. Is my capacity to participative in a conversation governed by how high my heels are? Is this what they mean when they say "if the shoe fits"?