I am in shoe purgatory, and I wouldn’t wish it on any woman.
Just like the line in Coleridge’s “The Rime of the Ancient Mariner,” …water, water, everywhere, nor any drop to drink, I am surrounded by shoes I cannot wear.
Back in October, I tore the meniscus in my left knee. Fast forward a few months later and I’m wearing running shoes and a knee brace, as I hobble around with a cane, trying my best to avoid surgery.
At a follow-up appointment right before the holidays, I didn’t want to hear the orthopedic doctor’s description of the suggested surgical procedure to “go in and clean things up.”
All I wanted to know was, “When can I wear shoes?”
He pointed to my worn and grimy running shoes and said, “You are wearing shoes.”
“I mean real shoes,” I clarified. “Women’s shoes.”
“You mean, like, high heels?” He was finally catching on. “Oh, you won’t be able to do that for many months.”
“Many months!” I chirped. “But what about New Year’s Eve? Can I at least wear shoes on New Year’s Eve?”
He seemed amused that I was so concerned about shoes. These guys just don’t get it. He hesitated a moment before shaking his head no.
I tried to bargain with him. “What about ballet flats?”
“Well…okay. Flats. But only for a few hours and then you put the sneakers back on.”
“When you do eventually start to wear shoes,” he continued, “you’ll need to wear shoes that have a full footprint, that are sturdy, and that don’t have a significant heel.”
So for the time being, I remain in shoe purgatory.