i wobbled around in front of the mirror for a few minutes.
"do these heels make me look fat?"
barclay doesn't like that question, and i know, i know, you're not supposed to ask your husband the "does this make me look fat?" question, but i do. daily.
[because i wanna know and, hello, he's the only one here.]
he knew the right thing to say, and said it quickly, so i moved on to the next question. i am pretty sure my getting dressed feels to him a bit like trying to get on an international flight. meaning he has to answer a lot of stupid questions. "sir, are you bringing any illegal drugs into our country?"
even if the answer is yes, you're not going to say yes. you'll get into trouble.
"do they make me look uncoordinated?" correct answer: yes. good husband answer:
my ankles gave way and i sagged against the dresser. i should have taken those heels off right then.
i don't wear heels; too girly for me, i'm already too tall, they hurt my feet, the klutz factor, etc, but yesterday, for some stupid reason, i got out my mom's heels, the ones she wore when she was my age, and got it into my head that i needed to wear them.
wear them i did...
and fell and broke three toes on my right foot.
that makes six this month [the other three were members of my left foot and were thoroughly crushed in a casserole dish accident. (there are two versions of that story and in one of them it was mostly barclay's fault and in one of them it was mostly my fault.)].
i can only laugh through my tears as i consider my mangled feet and pop ibuprofen and watch this video. [thanks joni.]
if you don't like it, maybe you should take some painkillers and try again.