An exercise in torture

Last Night

"Wow, look at all these adorable high heels in my closet. These shoes are fabulous. Why do I never wear these?" [Picks up a pair of bronze peep-toed stilettos] "I have a perfect outfit for these! I'm glad I painted my toenails today, they'll look great in these. Oh, I'm going to be so pretty at work tomorrow, everybody will think I have a job interview or something!"

Today

"Ow. Ow ow owwwww! Effing shoes! Why do I still keep you in my closet? Why do you hate me? Well, you know what? It's mutual. Tonight you're going in the Goodwill box. Right after I soak my shredded feet. OW!"

My feet are not made for peep-toed high heels. My big feet slide forward and cram my big toe through the peep hole, and it hurts like a son of a biscuit-eating bulldog. Forget water boarding. They should just keep a big box of cheap three-inch peep toes at Guantanamo and make the prisoners walk around in them all day. They'll be spilling their terrorist secrets within the first hour.

Kill me now.