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Goodbye, high heels. Finally. I gave up my heels. But I feel wistful about it. The Washington Post By Sally Quinn July 5, 2024 | 776 words | 难度★★★☆☆ I never thought I’d abandon high heels. But I did. It wasn’t the pandemic. It was the pain. I got my first pair of heels when I was 13. My military family was stationed in Greece, and I was at the rebellious age. As part of my newfound independence, I had recently announced to my horrified parents that I was an atheist and would no longer attend Sunday school or church. I had also become interested in dressing up, something my father astutely noticed with displeasure, especially the Fire and Ice lipstick. Still, he returned from a business trip to Paris with a gift of black suede French heels with a sweetheart cut and pointed toes. I had never owned anything so grown-up and sophisticated in my life. True, they hurt like hell. But they were glamorous, and therefore worth it. The shoes came with a condition. I had to go to
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