’Cause I’m a model, you know what I mean
And I do my little turn on the catwalk
Yeah, on the catwalk, yeah, on the catwalk, yeah
I shake my little tush on the catwalk
Remember the Right Said Fred song that was big in the late 80’s: I’m Too Sexy?
It was really a ridiculous song, actually, but definitely became an earworm at the time. I suppose now you would say it went viral? I digress…
I can’t remember the last time I wore real high heels. I’ve had a semi-declining wedge type silver sandal that I have paired with most of my dresses for the last so many years. Honestly, they may be as old as my 21 year old son. They probably wouldn’t even be classified as actual high heels. Yet, I have seen my daughter manage to command stilettos since she was 14.
I remember the first time she bought those pin-line heeled shoes. She was asked to be in one of her good friend’s Quinceanera — -a celebration of turning 15 in Latin culture. Watching her walk confidently in them with barely an ankle wobble, I wondered hw she could be my daughter.
Even though I took ballet from age 6 to 13, my whole life I have been a bit clumsy. I never learned to roller skate, I struggled learning how to ride a bike for way too long, and high heels felt like I was using stilts.
The thing is, if I am to enter this bodybuilding competition (a bikini division, no less) I will need to master heels — -high heels. I’m not sure what makes me more nervous, walking on stage in a teeny sparkly bikini, or walking on stage in heels in that teeny sparkly bikini.
When I was about three or four years old my parents somehow finagled getting me into a fashion show.
The memories of the whole thing are cloudy but I do remember a well-known TV newscaster was there filming and everyone was talking about that. I have foggy memories of being backstage with the girls, me being the youngest and left toward the end as a finale. When it was finally my turn, I walked down the catwalk in a sparkly dress. The audience was nothing but shapes of people in the dark, and I clearly remember scanning the crowd to find my parents, my heart beating hard and quick.
“Sweetie,” the famous newscaster was saying now, “can you bow for us?” I turned to look at her and facing my rear end to the crowd, bowed deeply. The entire audience roared with laughter. I remember being confused and wondering if I did it wrong.
So here we go with an upcoming catwalk. I supposed I should pull out the silver sandals with that declining wedge and just start practicing.
Maybe by this Spring I can graduate to a thinner heel?