Beth and the Jesus Sandal

I stare at it. This object of hideousness, tormenting me. I force myself to look it full in the sole. A size 9, brown leather religous icon. That I have to wear on my foot. I look back into the wardrobe and last season's wedges look down at me flirtatiously. 'Pick us' they silently beseech, 'we saw you through last season, we made your legs look thinner, your shoulders stand higher...we made even your yellow toe nails look good'. I look back down at the Jesus sandal; representing everything I've never been good at or wanted to be good at; exercise and comfort.

I must do this. I search for the second sandal. It's hiding from me underneath a pile of jumpers. The cheek of it. The cheek! I should be the one hiding!

I wrench them onto my feet, secretly beliveing that my big size 9's and freakishly long toes will somehow be transformed into cinderlla's glass slippered feet. They aren't. My wedges mock me silently from the wardrobe.