Is it the foot or the fool that wants the high stumbling in six inch heels? At home, go barefoot. The backyard sole requires rubber and the street demands lovers and leather. Shaky legs tremble wobbly like a newborn filly.  She twists her ankles like tornadoes balancing on the tight rope.

A girl’s best friend makes her sexy and proud when the fear of falling takes her to the ground. Holding on to tables and chairs.

Heel. Toe. Slow. Shifting.

Advance. Tiptoe.

Stand up straight. Relax your knees.

Shorten your steps like a baby.

Perching on the stilts. Look up. Never at the ground.

Tears reside inside your cheeks. The quiver in your bottom lip.

Blisters on your ankles. The pain in your sole.

Smile with the confidence of Marilyn Monroe.

Eyes on the prize.  Lift your shoulders high. Keep your tummy tight.

Break the shoes like a wild horse to the saddle.

Dance around the kitchen. Fly up the stairs.

Practice at the grocery store holding on to carts.

Tiptoeing across the parking lot you giggle.

Strolling, stepping, glidding.

Walk ever so slow with your head up high.

You see him.  He sees you.

You catch him looking at you. He smiles.

Walk proud.  Only in high heels can you walk on the clouds.