Wednesday, January 12, 2011

High Heels/Trampoli
I fit every cliche on earth of the little hip-hop loving jewish girl from New York who moves to Lucca, Italy and can't walk in heels.  Well, that may a little specific as stereotypes go, but most expats have a reputation for having a potty mouth and wearing flats, and, unfortunately I fit the bill on both counts. T is mortified that I'm the only mom who shows up at school clomping around in flat motorcycle boots instead of click clacking in on refined points.

Well, listen up friends, I've tried those devices of torture and even my most vain impulses cannot allow me to break my already dance inflicted injury torn body into more pieces.  For starters, the streets here are made of ankle turning cobblestones. My calves stretch like cartoon rubber plants and make ripping noises when I even try on anything at the shoe store that is  higher than two and a half inches.

Still in the cut throat world of femininity and the catty competition that goes with it in this harder-than-cement paved little city of Lucca, all is fair in love and fashion. And sadly the higher you are from the street, the farther you have to look down on the rest of us flat footed, jelly kneed, prone to sciatica, sisters who can't rise above it. Drat!

For my birthday, though, T found a website called on which she designed me a pair of compromise toeless booties that are due to arrive  at the beginning of next month. She is a determined little fashionista, our T.

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