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Death By Design

I’ve decided to kill myself.

Yes it has been a bad year for me, but that had nothing to do with the decision.

Yes, I haven’t written anything in at least two eons, but that was not a factor in my decision.

Yes, even the year that I had chicken pox, the measles and the Asian flu all in one year was a better year than this one. Still not a factor in the death decision.

Oh no. Only one thing factored into the decision.

Shoes. Yup. You read that correctly. Shoes.

You see I have an unquenchable need for shoes. And not just any shoes. I need high fashion, high price, in style shoes.

That’s why today, you will see me trying to walk in these stupid, yet somehow stylish, platform shoes. Well, walk is probably an egocentric over statement. The movement is more akin to clopping, like a horse does, and even they do it with more grace than I am able to manage.

I’ve been walking in heels all of my life. I’ve danced in heels. I have probably even slept in heels. I may have even given birth in heels. I know I’ve had more than my share of medical procedures done while wearing heels. I’ve voted in heels. I think there was even that one memorable occasion where I walked on the beach in heels. Not sure on that last one, but I know there was sand involved. The evidence was there the next morning.

The shoes I have on today are heels, so what makes me move and sound like some alien Frankenzoidcreepastein zombie?

Platforms. More stylish than the ones Frankenstein wore, but still there are platforms.

The heels are 3 ½”. The platforms under the front of the shoes are ¾”. That makes the heels less than 3”. But there are platforms.

Apparently in the all the years of training to be stylish I was never confronted with platforms. Well except for that stint in the 70’s, or was it the 80’s. OMG. I think it was both. But those don’t count because I refuse to acknowledge the  existence of the fashion from those decades.

So today I am clopping around in Frankensteinish platforms. Before Halloween even. And I don’t look like the stylish woman I want to look like. If I had waited two days, I could have at least said they are part of my costume. I’m not that smart.

I think there was a poem written about me: There was an old woman, Who didn’t have a clue, She tried to walk around, In her new platform shoes. She wobbled, and cobbled, And clopped all around, We all saw it coming, Her face hit the ground. Okay, I’m not a poet, but you get the gist.

So you see, it was my choice. I picked the shoes. I chose to wear them. I did it all without the aid of pharmaceuticals or alcohol. Only me to blame. I’m going to kill myself before the day is over. I’m going to stumble, trip, make a misstep, or manage to in some way kill myself all by wearing these shoes.

They are gorgeous though. And the purple in them matches my toes. And when I go, I’m gonna be stylin.

From the life and mind of:

Wanda M. Argersinger

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