I have mixed feelings about heels. Perhaps you'd call it a love/hate relationship. And by love/hate, I want you to really mean hate. I'm already taller than most of the females I know (and all of the ones I work with), and they're generally a pain in the butt (the heels, not the coworkers. Well...).
I work in a relatively laid-back work environment, so after months of towering heights, I've given up on heel-wearing. It's a nuisance, I don't need to further the complexes of colleagues, and I'm reasonably low maintenance. Once in a while, though, I break out the heels, just for the heck of it. Today was one of those days. And then this happened:
Mom: Hi. I didn't go to work this morning, but I need you to pick something up from my office (note: not far enough to warrant taking a cab, but just far enough to feel like you want to hack your legs off at the knee).
Me: Sure, Mom. Can't think of anything else I'd rather do right now.
I went on this errand and plan on remaining in my seat until 5. Now, someone get me some tea.
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