such great heights

Last week I was at a professional conference held at Chicago's McCormick Place. If you haven't heard of it, let me say that joint is flipping ginormous. For Oreos' sake, they also host the largest auto show in North America every year. It's BIG, people.

I haven't worn high heels in quite some time, but because everyone at the conference was decked out in their most dress-for-the-job-you-want finest (and beyond), I felt the least I could do is upgrade the usual flip-flops to something a little strappier to go with my jeans. Sadly, that meant trips from one session to the next involved escalators, overhead signs and a tremendous amount of increasingly painful walking.

I was pretty cranky after day three of trekking around, building blisters upon blisters. H wanted to go to the grocery store (we walk and carry back) that night, and he sort of pshawed my complaint that I had walked six miles that day. Okay, that figure was a bit of an exaggeration, but my days of dancing all night in stilettos are long gone, and I there wasn't even any alcohol to ease the pain. So to me, the foot-ache equivalent of "windchill factor" was about six miles to every one.

Later I reminded H that I was doing all that walking on high heels and he conceded that, indeed, the shoes probably made a big difference. I don't think boys really understand what it's like to traipse around on those deathtraps for any extended period of time. Frankly, I just don't do it anymore unless there's a good reason. But here's a glimpse for anyone who hasn't had the experience: This week Jezebel posted a video in its "What it feels like for a Girl" series showing a man (who's a big stiletto advocate, btw) attempting to walk a mile in three-inch heels. The results might surprise you. Be sure to take a look at Part 2 as well.

Somebody really should determine the distance-walked to distance-walked-in-heels ratio. You know, for the record.