Warning: some images in this post may be disturbing and inappropriate for young children.
I have this go-to pair of champagne-ribbon espadrilles with a cushioned foot bed that ties with an adorable ankle bow. Recently they made an appearance at Hannie and Justin’s wedding. They dress up, they dress down; they’re perfect. 
They’re tall enough that I can wear them with too-long pants so my hem won’t drag on the ground, and comfortable enough that I used to wear them for the 1.5-mile round trip walk to the bank. Here they are at Easter 2008, being comfortable and stylish. They’ve never given me any problems. Until last night.
They’re tall enough that I can wear them with too-long pants so my hem won’t drag on the ground, and comfortable enough that I used to wear them for the 1.5-mile round trip walk to the bank. Here they are at Easter 2008, being comfortable and stylish. They’ve never given me any problems. Until last night. I was trekking it to the train station and my heels were killing me the way they do when I wear woven sandals for too long, like my skin was rubbing off on the very bottom of my foot. Well apparently nine months of walking around Japan in flat shoes and boom–my feet go on high-heel strike. Just like that. I hadn’t brought any alternate shoes because my adorable purse was too small. By the way, I was wearing a 60s-style outfit of white bell bottoms with a blue and white flower-print tunic belted at the waist and my hair flipped out–very Mrs. Brady. Anyway, I got on the train and my feet still stung. Skip ahead, the conclusion of this story is I hobbled around all evening wondering what the deal was with my feet/shoes. Then came the walk home. The usually eight minute walk took a full 25 minutes. I ditched the shoes until my feet felt like the skin was scraping and burning off, then put my shoes back on and just tried to think of something else. I got home and doused them in cold water, and that’s when I noticed the awful blisters. I have never had blisters like this. And certainly not from my go-to comfortable espadrilles!! It hurts worse than those super-cute peep-toe navy patent flats that rub the back of my foot, and with those one time I put on a bandaid which rubbed off, formed a blister, popped, and I looked down a couple hours later in a train station to find the back of my foot and shoe all bloody.
This morning the feet were no better (please note the U-shaped blisters on BOTH heels). As I hobbled into the commissary my friend Kelly waved from across the parking lot. “Hey Mari! …why are you walking on your tippy toes?” “Oh, is it obvious? I’m trying to walk normally but I can’t touch my heels to the ground.”
At opening day for Ichiban Collectibles I tip-toed around tried not to make the constant “I’m in pain” face I was feeling on the inside and I thought I was doing an ok job. But I went to drop off my library books some lady in a van pulled over and stuck her head out, “Your feet hurt?” she asked. Sheesh, so much for subtlety! “Yeah, blisters,” I said, and she nodded and drove off. Back at the commissary later some guy gave me the “that girl is walking really weird” frown and eye-narrow. So now the trick is: how do I avoid walking for however many days it takes my feet to stop being on strike? Also, I have assorted high-heels for sale, size 6.5. See me for details.