She’s Beauty and She’s Grace (Lucky Her)

Sometimes I dream that I am a graceful girl, and then I wake up and walk into a door.

When I was eleven, my gym teacher said that I looked like a ballerina. I seem to remember that she was referring to my face, which would make sense since I certainly didn’t move like a dancer. No gazelle here. Well, when a volleyball flew towards me, I did resemble a deer… in headlights.

I can think of at least two people who have described me as poised, though I can only assume they meant when I am sitting down.

I recently bought a pair of three and a half inch heels for a close friend’s wedding. I can wear low heels, around an inch or less, but I rarely wear high heels. I also walk a lot, favoring a 25-minute walk over a metro ride, so sneakers or comfortable boots, flats, or sandals are my go-to shoe. I like the way high heels look, but in almost every situation I choose comfort over towering style. Cute comfort, but comfort nonetheless.


I will be maid-of-honor for my friend this summer. My dress is yellow to match the color theme of her wedding. She being the ultimate cool and easygoing bride, gave bridesmaids free reign on footwear. She herself will probably wear cowboy boots. Yet when I saw a pair of sunny yellow high heels for an unbeatable price, I couldn’t just leave them there. I slipped them on and walked up and down the aisles of the store before tucking them back in the box and under my arm.

That’s how, in the middle of winter, I ended up wearing heels the color of springtime and sunshine to a social event I attend regularly. I believe that practice makes perfect. A walk to the bar and a couple of hours standing seemed like a good initial test.

I wanted to pretend that I was the kind of cosmopolitan woman who wears yellow heels every day, but unfortunately—though not surprisingly—a fellow regular greeted me by saying, “You’re tall!” He had previously remarked upon the day I wore a suit and noted that I usually dressed casually for this event, so I could count on him to blow my cover. I’m not really Carrie Bradshaw. I walk the walk, but only for about twenty minutes and then I have to sit down.

I explained to him and the other person we were with that I was trying to train myself for my friend’s wedding—which, by the way, was six months away. They thought that was funny. I turned away for a few moments to order a drink and used it as an excuse to sit down while I waited. As I retrieved my drink and stood up, my heel caught on the stool and I stumbled forward slightly, almost having to reach for one of their arms, but not quite. They thought that was funnier.

I have a nice yellow dress and nice yellow heels, but I am glad all eyes will be on the bride.