Teetering on the edge of madness.

Is it just me . . . or is the ability to look up people’s noses during conversations the number one cause of orthopedic problems in business woman today?

Those of us who are members of Club V.D. (vertically disadvantaged) understand that there is little we can do to improve on this situation. The ‘80’s are a distant memory along with faking a few extra inches of height by using mouse, a teasing comb, and a quart of shellac.

High heels are mandatory. It’s hard to intimidate a business rival when you’re staring into the lasagna stain on his tie. And I’m talking about a good 3 inch heel, here. No wimpy kitten heels or flats allowed, and wearing wedgies is cheating; only real women wear spikes!

Perhaps you are thinking, "So, what's the big deal?" Perhaps you are thinking, "That doesn't seem so bad." Perhaps you are a Neanderthal, loafer-wearing, nincompoor of the male persuasion! But I digress . . .

For the uninitiatied, here is a short introduction to the art of wearing high heels:

Before work:

• One by one, you slide your feet into the shoes. You rise, hold your head high and automatically pull in your stomach. Life is good!
• Now add 10 lbs of accessories: oversized purse (with PDA, cell phone, makeup kit, emergency rations), a coat, umbrella, and briefcase with laptop, etc.
  
• Then comes the commute. Traveling by car can be pleasant unless you then have to walk several blocks to the office: Pain tolerance is automatically reduced by several hours Taking a bus is always an adventure given the vehicles penchant for abrupt stops. Standing in the aisle, you’ll give a terrific impression of a palsied stork!

At work:

• Finally! You get to sit down at your desk. You do some quick ankle rotations and feel the tension go out of your toes. So far, so good.
• You spend the next three hours doing wind-sprints between your co-workers desks, assorted conference rooms, and the coffee machine.
• Lunchtime: Hunger has been deadened by extreme discomfort and you’re now reduced to playing games with your shoes. You repeatedly slip them on and off, only airing out each foot long enough to ensure that it doesn’t suddenly swell up to a size 22.

After work:

• Pain tolerance is no longer a part of your vocabulary as you trudge home with your toes numb, your calves in agony and your lower back threatening to rebel and seize up like a rusty spring.
• Upon entering your residence you immediately kick off the offending hunks of leather and unceremoniously plunk both feet into the toilet vowing to never wear high heels again . . .
  
• Until tomorrow anyway, where you will once more slide your feet into the depths of certain misery thereby proving, without a shadow of a doubt, that height isn’t the only thing members of Club V.D. are short on.