rip

My knee is busted to the point where I think I should probably get it x-rayed or go to a specialist or something. Talking to someone I babysit for who had torn a ligament in his knee awhile back, he asked, "Does it prevent you from doing anything?"

"I can't walk 60 blocks like I used to," I replied ruefully.

Further: I can't walk in heels.

So today, on my way home to Canada for a quick visit, I packed up all my heels: my tweed and patent leather Franco Sartos; my caramel brown square-toed Enzos; my buckeled, pointy-toed sensible aerosols; even my kitten heeled rocketdogs. So goodbye, pink and black librarian heels; goodbye, perfect strappy sandals; goodbye, fleece-lined calf-length boots.

My heart breaks; I'll be missing you.