The heels from hell.

I'm not the kind of gal who wears heels to work, but when I go out on the razzle dazzle, I tend to throw on a pair. Last night was one of those nights. I'd purchased a pair of patent heels which were a tad higher than I normally go for, but because they were cushioned, I thought I would be fine.
So teetering down the hill to the bus, I thought, ok, they're a bit high, but they're not painful yet. Fast forward a couple of hours, and my feet are pretty much broken. The hours that they've spent contorted into the pretty yet disfunctional shape of my shoes have made them cry out in agony, and the hour I spent waiting for a taxi to get home didn't help. Quelle disastre. So I woke up this morning with the distinct feeling of being crippled and a vague knowledge that I'm not going to be wearing heels for a very long time now. The heels in question have been banished to a corner of my room, facing the wall in the hope that they will learn from their mistake and turn over a new leaf.