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.”

“I promise.”

“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.