Stilettos…Part 2…The Sequel…

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Not for a moment I would doubt my IQ…I never had it tested, and if I would have, there would be a separate category for people like me.  So,  I need to question my perception of distance and height.  Let me explain…

I bought a pair of stilettos thinking they were 5 inches high and I thought…Yeah! I still got it…just to find out when I went to return the shoes that they were not 5 inches…they were at the most 3 1/2 inches high.  She showed me what five inches looked like and I couldn’t close my mouth.  So an apology is in order to my friends of a very famous social network.  I had announced to my limited world of friends (and I like I that way) that I was going to attempt to dance in those shoes.  I just couldn’t get my groove and style flowing with those now known as 3 1/2 inches high.  Another smack on my face given to me by the aging factor.  What else is checking out next?

I am aware of some other things that are shining by their absence, but, on the other hand, some other things have come back into the forefront of my life that I thought were non-existent.  I’ll keep it to myself…but can’t help to share…I think I am infatuated or have a crush on someone, so the happy, butterflies on my stomach feeling is very alive and kicking.  It feels great!

Ok, enough of that…the stilettos showing on the above picture are officially 4 1/2 inches high.  A very dear friend of mine, with whom I spent the afternoon on Mother’s Day had a measuring tape in her purse (she is almost perfect, always prepared), and she made sure I had the height right.  I insisted on trying them on.  No…I couldn’t dance with those sleek and sexy looking shoes.  I need to start accepting in my mind that my body is a good number of decades old.  The mind wants to be sexy, chic and daring, but the body just wants to play safe.  This is not a good thing.  I am definitely not ready for this kind of boring stuff.

Every day that goes by represents a-I-don’t-even-know-what-to-call-it-effect on my mind.  Someone is messing up with my brain, and I am on the search for a solution.  Ponce de Leon and the Fountain of Youth, where the heck are you now.  I am in Florida, and definitely by what I see every day, it is not here.

I can see that my small mean mentality is very active.

So…there you have it…another episode in the life of “life only gets more interesting as you age.”  Shoot the imbecile that said that.

Pondering, but Happy Contessa

I’ve reached that age where my brain went from “you probably shouldn’t say or do that” to “what the hell, let’s see what happens.”  Wish I knew who said that.

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