Implements of Torture

I'm walking down the street, my brow creased with acute concentration: take another step, then another, then another. Walk on your toes, it'll all be over soon. Small steps now, nice and easy.
I can feel tendons stretch and twist like a rubber band. Nerve endings pop like tiny firecrackers and the balls of my feet feel as if I have never walked on any other part of my foot for the last twenty years.

Still, I walk.... focus, Ames, focus. You must not look like a drunken giraffe.

Oh how my feet are killing me! But oh, how hot they look.



The things we ladies put ourselves through to look beautiful. Ugh.
Keep walkin. Remember, ballerinas do this all the time.