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Running in Heels

What was it like, he wanted to know.

He’d tapped my arm as we left my closet. His eyes trusted my answer.

“Was it…was it really hard?” he asked.

And I’d smiled. “Go find out.”

Which was when my son dove back into my closet and emerged aglow, shuffling in my high heels.

For two bedroom laps he clunked and scooted across the carpet–no audience but me. Then in a burst of daredom, he sprinted down the hallway, still balancing on toothpicks.

In four minutes he’d had enough.

I raised an eyebrow, “So?”

And he shrugged a half smile, “nah,” he said. “It isn’t that hard.”



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