Today I retire to bed a hurt sack of flesh. In my trying to recapture my old groovy self, I ended up getting physically tortured and with a shredded ego to boot. There is only one mama mboga near where I live and I am afraid I may never show my acne colonised face there, especially after one of her maizecobs almost ripped open my arse.
There was a time I loved my heels sky high. Oh those babies stayed on all night long amidst my gyrating on the dance floor. They held my weight even as I floated (read staggered) over the rockiest of roads. They hoisted me just high enough to gain comfy access to near my prince charming’s epiglotis. I once flouted curfew and did a mad dash to the hostels with a bunch of friends after jumping over a makeshift gate in college, the guard hot on our heels literally. Long story short, we outdid him, no aches…no calluses. Aaanyway I was a pro skywalker, if you saw my almost virile calves all chiselled and shit you would understand.
Ladies know that the higher the heel, the bigger the butt lift and boy did I need the lift today. See after getting pregnant, I slowly transitioned to wearing flats. The more I ballooned, the more I embraced even the hideous crocs and ‘soapdish’ thingies. Fast forward eons after birthing and I am no longer able to wear my beloved ones without cringing in agony. I must have taken too long in my flat shoe comfort zone that my calf muscles slackenedEvery time I attempt to walk in my heels, I feel a calf muscle pull almost coming on…and so I freak. Today though I vowed to retrain myself.
After what seemed like forever, I made it out of the house. My practise for the day should have halted there but excitement is a bitch, it lied to me…whispered and almost chanted and cheered me to go on. So I did. I made it to the gate, hobbled past some wielders who I swear snickered. Goat kids do not have it easy, now I know because I felt like (and must have depicted)one for a while. A few minutes into my walk and I realised how much of a bad idea that was. My soles were burning up, my small toe throbbed as if ready to burst through the shoe screaming “freedom!”. Ever wondered how on the days you are at your worst, people seem to be triple the number of the normal daily population? Well, this was one of those days and to make matters worse, everyone’s eyes seemed to be glued on to me.
Good thing my breaking point came just as I got to mama mboga’s kiosk. I calmly greeted her whilst screaming inwardly and ignoring her quizicall look. I then proceeded to pretend I was there for the groceries whereas I just needed a commercial break from my ridiculous display. The stands holding the produce beckoned at me, all I craved was a chance to lean on them for a second and ease the pressure.off my feet. And lean I did, but as my rotten luck would have it, the stands cracked loudly. Before I could spring off, I felt myself going down and mama mboga screaming blue murder.
I landed onto tomatoes and avocadoes on my upper torso. Every time I tried to get up the potatoes at my feet tripped me sending me back on my bum. A crowd had gathered and nobody seemed keen on helping me out, they just laughed and spoke in hidden hushed hushed tones. My final try to get up saw me land on a nearby pile of maize cobs and I let out a painful yelp. I had landed on an upright cob that nearly ripped my jeans smack in the middle of my tushy. It stung. I don’t even want to imagine what would have happened if I had gone there with a dress and was one of those commando lovers.
Finally two guys helped me up and the crowd slowly dispersed. I was left with mama mboga yammering on and on and on ready to chew and spit my guts. I had ruined her stall. The floor was halfway painted red and green thanks to me, with some of her potatoes bearing holes from my shoes. We finally agreed that I head on home and get cash to pay for all the damage. Looking at my shoes, she started laughing and fished out a pair of rubber shoes a few sizes bigger than my feet. I gladly took them and yanked off the source of my nightmare then dragged myself home, head hanging low in embarassment.
As I lie in between my sheets, I pray that I do not forget the friction burn on my ass and accidentaly turn to lie on my.back. I have half of mama mboga’s cash but I may either have to sell a heel or two for the rest or avoid her till the end of time… I will however continue with my practise albeit indoors, who knows, I may not be that bad. Maybe whoever sold those shoes to me was a peddler, he must have laced them with something thats why they were tripping 😯 gerrit?
Article by: Nana on www.chroniclesofnana1.wordpress.com
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