I called my girlfriend last night as I was zipping up high boots. I told her whenever I wear high heels I think of the story she told me in college about her mom. A WWII war-bride from Japan. She married a tall soldier and, when he got stationed in the U.S., she followed after him by boat.
They planned to meet on a California pier and start a new life together. She walked off the boat, teetering on high heels, in order to kiss him. But the arrangements weren't right. He wasn't there. Wrong day. Wrong boat. I'm not sure. But she walked the pier all day on wobbly, high heels. Looking out at the ocean that laid between her and the life or even the language she knew.
I told my college girlfriend I was wearing high heeled boots. That I was venturing out into the cold with a companion much taller than myself.
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