walking tall...too tall
by Burt Prelutsky
A reader of mine, herself not a lawyer, suggested that, as a service to the members of the ABA, I should alert them to the fact that there is a class action suit out there just waiting to be filed.
My initial reaction was utter disbelief. Why on earth should I do something for a group of people who have never done me a good turn? But even as I had that thought, I found myself blushing. How petty can you be, I admonished myself. The Golden Rule, I reminded myself, isn’t just for other people. Perhaps if I set a better example, these various ambulance chasers who make a mockery of Ethics 101 every time they open their yaps would see the error of their ways.
The lawsuit this reader envisioned was one that would be filed against the profit-at-any-price manufacturers and retailers of platform shoes.
Now, I must confess that I’m no expert when it comes to women’s footwear, but even I haven’t been able to ignore them. One could more easily ignore the elephant in the living-room than these ugly, clumpy items.
I suspect that more than one sociologist or anthropologist has devoted a thesis to the compulsion American women have to wear shoes that either maim their tootsies or, at the very least, make them look as klutzy as newborn calves.
Even I can see that stilettos and other stilt-like heels make female legs appear longer and sleeker than would otherwise be the case. As a motive for self-mutilation, vanity at least has the charm of being comprehensible. But what are we to make of the women who stumble past us, precariously balanced, looking as if, at any moment, they might topple to their doom?
I mean, in a society that has taken to tattooing and body-piercing in a way that Ubangis could only dream about, have goofy and gawky become qualities to which young women aspire?
Frankly, at my age, whatever the ladies decide is hunky-dory with me. On the one hand, it’s always pleasant to see an attractive woman, while on the other hand, I’m always ready for a good laugh.
There is a downside, however. The thing is, I’m not as quick on my feet as I used to be. And if it’s all the same to you, when it’s time for me to meet my maker, I’d like to take my leave with at least a little of my dignity intact. I’d really hate to have my obituary announce to one and all that the cause of my death was some woman falling off her shoes and squishing me to death.