Take it all off, baby

I finally sucked it up and admitted that I needed to get several pairs of shoes re-heeled recently, something that I’d been putting off for quite some time (mostly because I’ve never had anything re-heeled in my entire life thus far, and was paralysed about the possible cost. Also, getting me to don a coat and wander around looking for a shoe repair place on my lunch break, using up possible knitting time, is very similar to trying to tell a drunk to leave a bar when he’s standing there with a full pint even though it is 20 minutes past closing time. That second reason should maybe have gone first.)

Pleasantly surprised at the relative cost – it will cost me about the price of a new pair to get all five pairs that need doing done – I got the two worst offenders fixed and went on my merry way.

This morning, while going to work wearing the boots that I’d picked up from the repair place yesterday, I began to notice something a bit strange.

People were staring. More specifically, men. At my knees.

Now, I am willing to admit that I have fairly good legs. As Amy Gardner in The West Wing says, ‘I have legs that go all the way to the floor, my friend,’ but today I’m wearing boots that are about four inches from my knee and a skirt that, when standing, is around two inches above my knee. So grand total of skin on display is around six inches. (This might sound like a lot. It’s not. Let’s just say that mini-skirts look very, very short indeed on me.) This doesn’t merit the guy who did a double take, then did not take his eyes off my knees for three stops this morning.

I think it has to do with the scarcity. In the summer, women walk around in sundresses that are glorified bikinis. Men wear shorts, women short skirts, shoes that are barely more than a bit of something between the ground and your feet. In the winter, giant coats, voluminous scarves, hats, tights, boots, and women especially (as, sadly, I have not yet noticed a predominance of men in kilts at any time of year) wear more trousers. So that six inches between my skirt and the tops of my boots suddenly becomes the equivalent of seeing a lady’s ankles in Victorian England.

Now all I need to is harness this power, and I can take over the world.