MARILYN Monroe once cooed, "I don't know who invented high heels, but all women owe him a lot."
Yeah, like a cucumber up one of his nostrils.
My feet are in pain this week after walking around Brisbane in a freshly bought pair of high heels one morning.
Blisters occurred. Flats were changed into. Darn my flat feet.
Don't get me wrong, I do love my height-giving frenemies.
Being vertically challenged, heels help me even out the discrepancy with other people.
I can look down at others, or at least at their necks rather than their navels. It's a cheap high.
They are fun, frivolous and can add an air of sophistication.
Over the years I've collected a number of heels and - my, oh my - they're all pretty.
Yet, when searching for footwear, my options are seemingly growing smaller as my tolerance for footwear with height lowers every year.
The shoes inspire the lofty ambition of a giraffe, but they make me walk like a donkey.
Practically speaking they're a menace.
It's hard to run in them.
Navigating curbs, cracks and other things that you normally wouldn't notice but that could send you sprawling in heels becomes essential.
They are bad for your body, especially for your feet.
Unfortunately society has rendered certain specific social situations where they are a must.
They help promote the image of a woman in charge, a put-together person.
What we always seem to leave out of this perfect image, however, is the point in which that woman reaches her destination, trips over her foot, and rips her tights.
We're taught not to judge a book by its cover, but sometimes you can judge people by their shoes.
So, judge not flats-wearers.
After the pain from this week I certainly won't be judging again, no matter the societal context.
Besides, if high heels were so wonderful, men would be wearing them.