A high-heeled life...

I had a very Northern moment this morning as I watched the news. They showed images of a snowy London street with a few brave souls on their way to work, one of whom was a woman in spindly, three-inch heels.
"The daft cow!" I spluttered into my Oatibix. "No wonder people haven't been able to get into work if that's how they're dressed!"

And feeling very superior, I pulled on my walking boots and set off for work. In the car. (The boots were for later).

As I drove along I was still marvelling at the stupidity of setting off into several inches of snow in high heels. Okay, SJP does it on New Year's Eve in the Sex and the City film - but she's also in her pyjamas and a fur coat, never gets mugged, and can eat out every night without getting fat or going bankrupt, so she doesn't count. "Who in their right mind..?" I was thinking.

Then it came to me. This is a woman who lives in London and works in the city. They haven't had snow like this for almost twenty years. She probably doesn't have any flat shoes.

Immediately I felt dreadful for judging her, when she was actually doing her best. What alternative did she have? Perhaps they were her most sensible shoes.

I began thinking about shoes-as-metaphor. My walking boots have only been used about three times (I have nobody to walk with). Most of the time I wear flat shoes, which are practical and comfortable. When I went out last weekend, I had very little choice - either the heels I can walk in, or the higher heels I'm saving for when I have a nice arm to hang onto...

My flat, practical shoes reflect how I've lived my life over the last few years. I've been quite limited in my life choices, having someone fairly dependent on me. I haven't been able to fly off on exotic holidays, or even have exotic relationships. My life has been solid, samey and slightly Sad. It took a lot of persuasion for me even to buy heels. My daughter runs a shoe department, so was bound to win in the end, ignoring my pathetic pleas that I didn't need to waste money on shoes I would never wear because nobody ever asked me out. She rightly told me that was ridiculous, and I ended up with two lovely pairs - one almost unworn - of lovely, shiny shoes. One black, because I usually insist on everything I buy going with everything else, to save money, and one in a lurid, Hooker's Red (wouldn't that be a great name for a Dulux paint?) which I bought because - well, they're gorgeous. I've never let myself fall for a pair of shoes before, but maybe Carrie Bradshaw's getting to me just a little.

I've still never worn them, though, Just as I've never booked that holiday in South America, or the Norwegian cruise, or the cottage in the Cotswolds. I haven't been able to do Impulse Living for a long time, and I've lost the habit. I have to say, my life feels less... colourful this way. I've decided it's time to reconnect with my old dreams - and dream some new ones. I need to live a high-heeled life now and again.

I wonder about the woman I saw picking her way through a snowy London this morning. Does she ever yearn for a bit more boredom in her life? Fewer high-powered meetings, a day food-shopping, a night at the pub? Does she feel she has to keep up appearances or lose her job in the current climate?

Will she learn from this week? Will she perhaps buy a cheap pair of flat shoes and use them to walk safely to work tomorrow, keeping them in her wardrobe as a reminder of the Great Snow; the week people stopped scurrying around and built snowmen in the parks?

And will she ever wonder why she didn't join them, just for a day?