Studmuffin or bust

So it’s two weeks since round two of the cryo and the pain kicked in after about day six. Thankfully gabapentin came to my aid, riding in on its 300mg yellow casing. It might be a while before I can, but I can’t wait to slip on these babies.

From the shoe stable of Mr Mr Kurt Geiger these are comedically called ‘Studmuffin’. Yep, seriously that’s the name on the box of these shoes. I bought these when I refused to be torn away from heels but knew that I had to make a change from the pointy-toed monsters that had led me down the painful garden path in my pre-neuroma days. Like an addict I told myself I could just have a heel without the pointy toe and get by, I could just get a small fix and that I would be ok, I could manage it, I could control my urges and desires, I would be ok having a small heel and a roomy toe. And pretty much, I was right.

These were the shoes I wanted, nay needed for a friend’s wedding in 2010. I wasn’t sure if I could make it through the day and night in the Studmuffins so I bought a relatively flat wedge back up pair of shoes from Dune that accompanied me to Stoke on Trent for the wedding and reception. The wedges gave me height without pain and also, two pairs of shoes for the same event with an excuse of wanting to ensure a pain free day, sneaky huh?

I ended up wearing the wedges in the day-time, they had the incredibly unimaginative name of “Madrid”, but then I slipped on the Muffins in the evening when we got back to the hotel. It was a good day and a good night and my foot didn’t hurt very much at all but to be honest that might have been the alcohol. Just saying….

Subsequently I have found that these shoes have become my greatest ally in the need for height coupled with the need for a pain free life. Whenever I have slipped on a dress over the summer they have been my gently caressing non-threatening friends whilst in the office, at a funeral, at a birthday party and at numerous other non-events where a dress called for heels to avoid the appearance of being the small, tubby lass with fat calves and ankles (cankles). I’m hoping that I’ll be able to get reacquainted with the muffins by the end of September when I’m off to a wedding. Quite frankly, if I have to wear casual slip-ons I might as well just tip up in a pink shell suit, yeah but, no but...

It’s the Muffins or bust.

Does Yves Saint Laurent work in fleece?

Ladies and Gentlemen, boys and girls, I went for a teeny tiny run last night. Granted, I was jacked up on gabapentin, but I did it. Probably only half a mile at most but it felt good to just have a little run. Perhaps the orthotics are working and I won’t need the extra cryo-therapy after all.

Anyway, back to the main attraction, my shoes! Next up are a fabulous pair of Yves Saint Laurent Rive Gauche monster wedges. Check out these babies, so elegant and so bloody high I’ve only worn them once. I fell in love with them when I saw them, six straps, four buckles and a great chunk of wood wrapped in the softest smoothest black leather; these shoes invite you to totter and quite frankly if you’re going to wear them, it’s a given that you will. Honestly, these shoes are for ladies who are able to just stand around next to a pool in Miami and sip a glass of champagne all night. They’re not for northern lasses who drink real ale, get caught out in the rain and occasionally decide to try out karate moves in the middle of Barkers Pool, whilst dodging students urinating on the cenotaph. Google those last five words and you’ll get my drift.

I think what I’m trying to say is this; I will never, ever get another opportunity to wear these shoes and keeping them is just fooling myself that I’m one of those glamorous women that roll out of nightclubs at 4am still looking fabulous. Regardless of the neuroma these shoes are just not for me. I think I bought them because I had visions of myself being one of those tall, lithe ladies that sparkle all night long. In reality I’m the one stood in the corner picking dog hairs off my fleece. Goodbye Yves Saint Laurent Rive Gauche beauties, I have accepted who I am and I have accepted my hairy fleece, for the hairy fleece means only one thing. A big hairy dog that loves me regardless of my shoes.