A Mission to break-in Shoes or Break my feet

I had an interview last week. One of the very few interviews where my head was straight as I prepared for it. Mainly because at the beginning of this year, I asked my dressmaker to make two official suits for me. Just in case. I had a feeling I would need them. Or rather I had planned to need them.And i did.

So, there I was, fully prepped, my papers in order, my outfit ready. Only one problem.., shoes. 

I have always had a love hate relationship with shoes. I cant stand physical pain at all. And more so on my feet. And somehow shoes and pain went hand in hand in my case. But that is not the only reason why I love hate shoes.

The only time I remember diligently wearing shoes was when I was in high school. And that was mainly because for whatever reason, my feet really smelled horrible. (I guess mainly because, I had only a few pair of socks that took forever to dry whenever I washed them, and so was forced to wear wet socks more often than not) Apart from that period, there is no time when I did not jump for the occasion to throw my shoes away, put my legs up and let my feet breath.

Growing up, I was always in trouble with my mother for leaving the house without shoes, or for  losing my shoes if I left the house with them. I was always walking around barefoot. Jumping up and down, walking on my toes or heels  at any given moment because either the ground was too hot ( we call this tsapi),  cold or had thorns. 

You would think therefore that I would end up with those feet that had soles as hard at the hide of a crocodile , and toes that were as tough as the hoofs of a cow then, right? No.

In retrospect, I tend to think that my feet may be the most sensitive part of my body. I don’t mean that in any provocative way. I mean it literally. Whereas I have always managed at one point or another, though not very often,  to squeeze and mold and mash many parts of me into outfits and structures that I have wanted them to fit into, I have always failed to do the same for my feet.

And that is where my love hate relationship with shoes begins. I generally like shoes. Not love, but like. I would not throw a fortune away on account of shoes, but once in a while, I will put my money on a pair of nice gold sandals, beautiful white heels or official black wedges. The other times, I spent my money on Maasai sandals.

Not because I love the Maasais so much, but because I can no longer take the disappointment that follows me after buying shoes. It is always the same pattern.

I spot a beautiful shoe. I try it on. Walk around for a few minutes to gauge its fit. Leave it. Come back after a week. Try it again. Leave it. Come back after another week and if the shoe is still there, I take it as a sign that it is mine, and buy it.

Only for me to be disappointed the very first time I wear it. It is all pain and blisters and all un-comfort-ability. And within no time, I put in on a shelf with the rest, waiting for about 6 months to lapse before I give it out to someone.

So back to my interview, here I was fully prepped, my papers in order, my outfit ready. The only problem.., shoes. So I did what I have always done. Borrowed a pair from my cousin. And they were the most comfortable heels that were not mine so far.

I realize now, it is solely because they were already broken in. Something that i have never learnt to do.

So, breaking-in shoes…these stiff-necked stubborn little things that make my life miserable.

It is decided. I am on a mission and it is official.

I am still not sure whether to blame shoes or my feet...but whichever the culprit is, they have been fore warned. This time there is no choice...

And I will stop at nothing till these shoes or these feet are broken.