High Heels

I am craving high heels. Specifically red high heels. I tried on a pair at Ann Taylor and wanted to walk out of the store in them. The thing I liked was that tiny bit of red peeping out of the front of my jeans and the way that stiletto heel looked in profile against the boot cut of denim. They were the wrong size but I almost bought them anyway. Then I tried another pair at J.C. Penny. That pair had a small platform and they were $25.00--more reasonable for shoes that are pure whim. Oh yeah, both pairs were red patent leather. Red patent leather high heels. I mean, could anything be more slutty? Oh and yes, both pairs were peep toe. They could easily be in the Victoria’s Secret catalog or in the Frederick’s catalog for that matter. I didn’t buy them but I came close.

So what gives? It’s chemo weekend and I am craving red high heels. Is there a connection? Maybe I have had too much therapy or read too much New Age philosophy and I think always that everything means something else.

It’s about desire for sure. But desire for what? The obvious: sex. Red patent leather peep-toe high heels are about sex, and sex is about life and energy and vitality. Maybe these spiked heels are a way to stake a claim for my energy and vitality. I’m not dying; I want to flash a neon sign that says: see me, feel me, hear me coming.