Ow.

If I've not told you, I have quite possibly the worst set of knees in existence. Really, it's true. When I was fourteen and visiting my brother in Florida, I was unable to get out of the car because my knees locked. Luckily, back then, I was a tiny thing and my brother was a Navy...something or other. Suffice to say that people saluted him. Which still makes me laugh.

I apparently inherited my grandfather's knees from my Momma's side. They work OK most of the time, but on occasion, they can tell weather, standing up too straight, and once or twice, that there was a fantastic sale at SuperTarget.

Yet I insist on wearing very high heels. As time goes on, the heels get higher and the balance gets worse. Why, you ask? Why would I hurt myself more?

Because I won't be able to wear them forever and I love love love love love high heels. Yes, they generally make me taller than any man who's not a member of the NBA, but so what? I love the way they change my walk.

But I have to tell you, after nine hours at work in four-and-a-half-inch heels, I hurt. Badly. The boy said that I should get a foot massage. NO! I do not anyone to touch my feet tonight.

So here's some truth - I put beauty over pain.

Wait - you wanted to see them? OK, but only because I expect you to mock me: