A Pigmy in a Giant World

Platform soles may let you put your best foot forward but strut around in ten inch heels and you feel lofty, in-charge and ready to kick up a storm. My annual health check-up usually deteriorates into a group-therapy session (where I’m the group)… I am considered overweight. Determined to actually do something about it this time, I decided to ask the coach for a statistical break down. He got out his pad and carried out the decimal to six places, he looked up and announced, “for your girth, you should be a giant oak tree!”

I could feel this terrible depression creeping up on me and all the way home I made plans for a crash lose-seven-pounds-in-seven-days diet. Suddenly it struck me, I’m not fat, I’m just short. If I could grow taller my weight would seem more in proportion. But how does one grow taller?

Pondering over my problem, I decided to take a walk; perhaps shop window displays would give me some inspiration, I thought. And then I saw it — an entire window of shoes with platform soles. They were weird little devils with snub-nosed toes and thick soles of wood and cork, but when equating their ugliness against a year of unseasoned boiled vegetables and clear bouillon soup, they began to take on a desirability I came to appreciate.

I entered the shop and approached the salesman. “Those shoes in the window … can you buy them without a prescription?”, I asked. “Certainly,” he smiled, taking my elbow and leading me to a chair. “Actually”, I prattled, on “I don’t need orthopaedic shoes but what I want to know is how tall can I become if I wear them?” “How tall do you want to be?”, he asked. I did not dare believe my good fortune, “I want to be so tall that I can go back to drinking gravy as a soft drink and not worry about my weight,” I said. He clicked his fingers and a pair of ten-inch clogs materialised before my eyes. I had to make sure I wasn’t dreaming!

Despite the fact that I had seen better-looking shoes, I had to admit to a feeling of loftiness. Then I got my first flash of pain. It started at the back of my legs, ran down behind the knee into the calf, made a sharp right and extended into the ankle, foot and finally the toes. “Can’t you give me something for the pain,” I begged, close to tears. “Try standing up in them,” said the salesman sweetly, “It helps circulation.” I spread my arms for balance and lurched unsteadily through the shoe shop, digging first one toe into the carpet and then the other. I saw a reflection of my slim, tall silhouette in the mirror and said, “I’ll take them,” to the salesman.

When something significant happens in my life I reactivate my diary. So, I decided to record my first few months as a tall, slim person. Day 1: Wore my new shoes for the first time in front of the family. Never realised before that my husband looks rather in exile. He is so short that when I stand, I get an aerial view of his receding hair line! My children are absolutely entranced with my stature. My daughter asked, “Aren’t you going to kiss us good night?”, and I smiled down patiently, “I have to plan my route so please wait till I indicate that I am ready to take a bunch of restless children in the wagon.”

Day 2: Drove the car today for the first time in my “Frankenstein boots”. I find that being tall has its disadvantages. It takes a command sent out from the brain twice as long to get to where it is going. I commanded my right foot to hit the brake and before it responded I ploughed into an abandoned motorcycle; abandoned by an agile police officer in the nick of time. I received a lecture on dangerous driving, parted with my licence and a warning that I would not get off so easily next time. It is only because you look so terrified I decided to be understanding this time, he said.

Day 40: I’m still trying to get used to walking in the clogs, but find I trip over things and often push 9 feet by 12 feet rugs in front of me. Am getting all kinds of barbs from my family. Dull day shopping. Only one incident, my bank manager saw me limping around the supermarket and urged me to join a pilgrimage to Lourdes.

Day 60: I didn’t know I was limping. I don’t know if it’s my age or what, but my heels have gone numb. It’s silly really, like having your teeth itch. I dropped in to see my best friend who confessed she was worried about me. “But why?”, I laughed. “I love being tall. I’m the first one to know when it rains. I can get my own drink of water without a stool. I can get my toaster out of the top cupboard shelf without assistance.” “But you don’t look good”, she added. “What’s wrong with the way I look?”, I said defensively. “Your face reflects the
pain of a women who is wearing jeans a few sizes too small.” So, the shoes take a little getting used to.

Day 70: I can’t remember having a pair of shoes so durable you can’t fold, bend, mutilate them or beat them to death with a club. I’ve worn them every day in every conceivable kind of weather. I’ve walked on the sides and on the tops of them. They look as new as they did the day I goose-stepped out of the shop in them. A colleague asked me today, “Why do you wear those things?” I paused a moment, trying to think. Then, my dog came over to me, sniffed around the ten inch wooden sole and heels and lifted his leg. That did it. No more platform heels for me. I’d rather live on unseasoned boiled vegetables and clear soup.