I do my housework in heels.

I have my reasons, and they're good ones. I should point out that when I say I do my housework in heels, I do mean just heels. No skirts and blouses and 1950's curled bob. Just heels, PJ bottoms, and a sweatshirt. But, the bottom line is that cleaning time is spent vacuuming in high heels, and I'm a bit disgusted with myself for it.

I don't actually wear high heels often. Never to work, and rarely out on Saturday nights. I'm not conditioned enough. Within two hours my feet are sore and I end up either limping with blisters or carrying my shoes while walking barefoot on the street. (I've decided that a great guy is one who, when I decide to forsake my shoes in favor of stocking feet in the rain, has nothing to say other than a concerned comment about how my pantyhose may not survive the night. I really didn't want to talk about how much my feet hurt. I just wanted to get where we were going.)

I didn't always do this. It all fell apart about two months ago. I sprained my ankle. Badly. There was crying and screaming and hysterics and shock, and then a lot of swelling and funny colors. It's still swollen and still weak and I desperately need to exercise it. So, along with the toe raises and the ice and the stretching and everything else, I've started putzing around the house in heels.

I mentioned this to The Coworker recently, and he immediately wanted pictures. He was envisioning me "all done up in Anne Taylor", Stepford-wife style, and he viewed it as photo-worthy. I explained about the PJs and sweats while at the same time doing an inner victory dance.

The Coworker couldn't have known this, but his comment hearkened back to high school, when I used to dress up in "normal" clothes for Halloween. I'd been worried lately that even with the carpet skates, I was viewed as mainstream and boring. Fortunately, those fears have now been allayed. No normal person in Anne Taylor is seen as a photo op. And these days, normal people probably don't clean their houses in high heels.