Monday, March 19, 2012

the agency of silly walks

My capacity to move in the world consists of a jaunty, bouncy step.  SB has a rather hulking, stalking stride that looks as menacing as mine looks friendly.  Our walking styles are noticeable enough that we have been recognized by friends from over great distances.  I try to get SB not to hunch over so much when he plows from point A to point B because it is poor posture; he does not critique my bounce, probably because I am too short to notice.

My mother, who missed her calling as an etiquette writer, tried to bring her daughters up to a bygone standard of deportment.  She never left home without immaculate hair and makeup, and favored pencil skirts and gorgeous high heeled shoes.  My sister enjoyed her cotillion preparation classes and continues to excel as a ballroom dancer but her wide, flat feet refused to be squeezed into delicate footwear.  I hated dance classes but was blessed with a podophiliac's dream: small bone structure, unusually high arches, and thin ankles.  Unfortunately for my mother, small heels and high arches cause my feet to fall out of most pumps. 

Also unfortunate for my mother was the fact that with heels, my bouncy walk turned into a whole lotta shake.  During my teenage years, my first attempts at wearing heels combined with a very round posterior caused cars to honk as we were walking down Park Avenue to go shopping.  Oh the horror.

These days the only honking I receive is from taxi drivers who feel rather put out that I deigned to make use of a crosswalk.  They never honk at SB though; I guess his walk is good for some things.

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