Oww!" I howled miserably. "If I spend another minute walking down the pavement in this strange new land in these strange new shoes, I will pass out," I thought to myself. My feet throbbed in pain and I strongly suspected that one of the newly-formed bunions on my feet had given way to a wound. "What, are you okay?" he asked. Finally, I told him.
"My shoes... are... umm... slightly uncomfortable," I said and determinedly ploughed on, now ready to burst into tears. A slow smile crept on his lips and he quipped, "Ah, I thought so." I desperately began searching for a shoe shop while he mumbled something along the lines of ‘I told you so'. The events of last night were clearly on his mind.
We sat at the table, the two of us, in the balmy, moonlit night on a table for two overlooking the sea. A candle flickered between us while a slightly-wilted rose sat in the vase. Someone belted out a ballad a little further away from us and waiters and waitresses flitted about in smart apparel. Another couple sat adjacent enjoying what I presumed were chicken wings. That took care of one dilemma (what to order) but the other problem remained unsolved as ever.
My shoes. My brand new six-inch heels that I had worn specially for the moment. It was our honeymoon — and I couldn't believe he hadn't noticed my shoes. Being only 5 feet and 3 inches tall (he vociferously argues it's 5 feet 2 inches but I believe in giving myself the benefit of the doubt) an added six inches ought to make me look like Burj Khalifa in comparison. (Well, not quite, but you get the idea). I was miffed for I had taken all the trouble of buying those shoes, and then forcing my feet inside them, which, I have to say, looked rather petite.
He sat unaware looking at the menu as I cleared my throat ever so slightly and looked at my feet. There, that should do it, I thought to myself. Alas, he still didn't notice. This called for drastic measures and I ‘accidentally' knocked down the rose near my feet. He bent down to pick it up and lo and behold — he still didn't see the new shoes on my feet!
When I finally communicated the fact that I was wearing the longest heels in the world, he decided that they were completely impractical and wouldn't my feet get sore because they seemed just too tight? Needless to say, that sparked a heated discussion in which I highlighted the wonderful aspects of high heels. With nothing to end the argument, he apologised for not noticing and I happily wore my heels the next morning, too. After a few hours of exploring a historic site, my feet were sore and I wondered if I could file a suit against the manufacturers of the shoes.
We finally a found a small run-down shoe shop that sold outlandish sandals with ethnic (read: garish) embroidery, mostly to tourists. By some stroke of luck the shopkeeper unearthed a pair of shoes that wasn't the traditional kind. It was one those shoes designed by doctors full of empathy for people like me who have sensitive feet. The fact that they were a startling royal blue and orange, of all colours ceased to matter for the shoes were ultra-comfortable.
I spent the rest of the honeymoon nursing my poor feet, (alternating between sneakers and the royal-blues) realising that honeymoons aren't all fun and romance, and that the right shoes are very, very important.
Mehmudah Rehman is a Dubai-based freelance writer.
