Sorry about that

I was making dinner last night while the kids were playing outside. Anyway long story short, my youngest son pooped on my neighbors lawn.

I guess I just wanted you all to know that little landmine of information since the thing I had been worried about while I was cutting onions in the kitchen was if a car was going to come down the street too fast and run my children over or if someone was going to see their cuteness and get the idea to steal one or both of them. Never in my wildest imagination did I think to worry that I might have to break out the new pooper scooper to pay for those three minutes of making dinner. And I am completely serious; Amazon had just delivered a brand new pooper scooper to my house maybe three minutes before this incident! Makes me wonder if the Universe had this all planned out ahead of time.

This happens often. Not the poo, well yes but no. I mean that the things I worry about almost never happen. The things I couldn't imagine happening in a million years happen all the time. Like that time I tried to write an email which is apparently code for my children to haul the sprinkler in to the kitchen and turn the tap on to fly-by-crop-sprayer. It is either proof that there is no point worrying about things because there is no way you can predict what your children have in store for you next or it's a testament to my lack of imagination.

Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go and peek out the front door to see if my neighbor has reciprocated my sons Valentines delivery.

The pregnancy question

Every year around the time that summer turns in to this dark, cold and bleak view outside my window, I convince myself that I am dying of cancer. Most years I am certain it's ovarian cancer because ovarian cancer is considered the "silent killer" which suits my lack of symptoms. This year, after a bad day with an overly tight sports bra, I talked myself in to believing I had boob cancer. I googled "sore boobs" and webMD didn't have any answers for me. If I pointed to the chest area of the symptom guide, it kept assuming that the pain I was experiencing was "chest pain" and telling me to go to the emergency room immediately. I was tempted to actually go. Technically I was having chest pains. But since everything I read was just making me feel inferior to a heart attack, I gave up. But the Internet did not. The Internet decided, without really telling me about it, that I was pregnant. But instead of just coming right out and telling me, it started to drop hints instead. First there was the Old Navy banner advertising maternity clothes. Then there was Target pamphlet that arrived in the mail with coupons for Prenatal vitamins. It went on like this for long enough that I seriously began to wonder if perhaps I was pregnant. I mean yes, my husband had a vasectomy two years ago but he never did go back in after the procedure to check if it worked. And yes I have one of those five year birth control devices but those things don't always work either. And maybe, even though it took us three years to conceive our first child, maybe since then we've developed the kind of reproductive organs that can kick start human life from a simple look. And maybe, even though I was very clearly pregnant when I was pregnant, maybe this time I'm not going to show and I'm going to have one of those secret pregnancies that doesn't reveal itself until I'm sitting on a toilet giving birth one night. And maybe all those months of morning sickness and lethargy during my last two pregnancies have been replaced with a general sense of well being and an energy level that is border line normal. I can't see why not. It's dark outside and I'm stuck inside the house and for the life of me I can't see why I shouldn't take a pregnancy test. So I do. I have these things in my cupboard since my last pregnancy, unable to throw away a $10 top-of-the-range pee stick and now I'm glad I didn't. So I pee on it like I did three years ago and then I wait, which is not my strong suit but I do as I'm told. But, much to my amazement, the line does not show a plus or a pink line or a "pregnant" or whatever the fanciest pee stick is supposed to do and it is then that I start to see how little my chances of being pregnant really are. My boobs were only sore for one day after all. I did just have a period that ended like yesterday. And then as I am starting to feel embarrassed by the chain of events that find me in my bathroom imagining a pregnancy, I catch sight of the expiration date on the pregnancy test and note that the pee stick has passed its expiration date. So, what I'm saying is that maybe I'm pregnant, that's all. But I guess we'll never really know.

Does this shirt make me look pregnant?

Potting

I took a sleeping pill one night and then made the happy mistake of getting online and buying stuff. The next morning it turned out that I had bought myself eight pottery classes for three hours on a Monday night. I thought about canceling just like I think about cleaning the hard to reach windows upstairs and of course never actually did it and promptly forgot all about it. Then Steve came home from work one Monday and gave me this funny look and said, "Is that what you're wearing to your pottery class?"
"Pottery class?" So, I jumped in to my dungarees (this is a clothing blog so I'll tell you that dungarees are exactly what you're supposed to wear when sitting at a potters wheel unless you're planning on being the Patrick Swayze character in Ghost in which case you can go shirtless) and motored to class, leaving my Dearly Beloved in charge of our hysterical two year old and oblivious five year old.

Now to be fair, I have done a pottery class before so I knew what to expect, sort of. Except this time, we had a new teacher who had the people skills of a Customs Officer. Every single thing I said to Margaret (not Maggie, but Margaret) was met with a blank stare.
"I thought we were only allowed an ounce of pot."
Nothing.
When my clay pot fell to pieces on the wheel I announced, "Ah-ha! Now the student has become the master."
Nothing.
In fact, nobody in the classroom found me amusing at all which only took me about three classes to realize and finally quit trying, by which time the class had halved in size.

And this is precisely the point at which things became really relaxing. I don't know how things are in your town or country or home, but I live in an atmosphere of intense parenting competitiveness. In my little world it's not uncommon for every mother within a half mile radius to crane their necks when you open your picnic to see if you have packed enough anti-oxidants and organic free range carrots for your children. If you pick up your phone to make funeral arrangements for your dead sister while pushing your child on the swing at the park, someone will take a photo of you and write a very long moan on facebook about how parents are no longer present for their children. It's a fierce game of mothers-against-mothers out there and the only defense is to surround yourself with like-minded people who know how to return fire during a drive by criticism from a parenting busy-body.

It's exhausting and I'm looking forward to the day we all realize how unreasonable it all is and return to parenting like our parents did, which is to say, hardly at all.

In the mean time, there are pottery classes. A room filled with women all doing their best to make something out of nothing. All mothers, all learning to do something they have never done before and mostly finding the result to be completely different to the product they set out to make. In this room where the wheels spin and hum, where we all have our heads down concentrating ever so hard at our own task, it is not possible to criticise each other. When Donna's pot spins in to a lump of curved clay beneath her hands, there are sympathetic words from all of us because we all know we're one wheel spin away from making exactly the same mess. And when you have your hands on the clay and the wheel is pushing you around and making you doubt yourself and then suddenly your hands grow stronger and your arms tighten and for once you have a real idea of what it is you're making and you can feel hope that it'll all turn out fine and you let out an involuntary happy squeal, it is then that you'll feel a room full of women sending you their best.

The Swim Suit addition

Here is why I don't give you advice about what swim suit to wear this summer. In my experience there are only two swim suits; the one you wear when you feel good or even good-ish or good enough or better-than-I-used-to-look about your body and the one that you wear when you hate your body. Yes, HATE. Those articles that give you three swimsuits you could wear if you're self conscious of your boobs or you bottom fail to acknowledge that a large portion of the population just feels bad about their entire body, even their elbows. And at any given point in the summer, you could fall in to one or the other of these categories since the way you feel about your body has absolutely no basis in what your body actually looks like. One day you feel great about it, the next day, you hate it- same body. Well I spent all of last year loving my body and the first three months of this year wishing I had a winter moo-moo. So, with that in mind, I bought the following swim suit:

Yes, it's a real swim suit!

It's a 1950's swim suit made out of cotton table cloth fabric, complete with studs for me to pin my push up bra and I bought it on Etsy for $5. There are so many great things about this swim suit:

Number 1: I can still wear my underwear under this thing. I have no idea why I might want to do that but you never know, you just never know.

Number 2: Every time I get in the water to swim a lap, the handsome life guard on duty assumes a woman in full clothing has fallen in to the pool and he dives in to rescue me. Win!

Number 3: I am equally dressed for swimming as I am for taking off in a sprint for my run-away children or doing ballet or posing for my portrait on the nose of a fighter plane, it's just so versatile.

Number 4: Since there is only one of these swim suits in the world, I will never have to face a comparison with someone younger, taller and more buoyant than me.

Number 5: Also, at this point in my life, I would rather be on this side of the "she can do better" than on that side of the "she should cover up" chatter beside the pool.

Number 6: This only came in one size which is "chunky" and so I have room to grow AND when my breasts develop, I'll have some place to put them. Great news.

Here I am looking in to that wonderful gap between my body and the swim suit and imagining the potential.

 

Hot pants.

These are lunges. Also this might be a dude. Picture courtesy of manalive.com.

Want to warm up this winter? I have just the thing. Skinny jeans. Because nothing warms you up like trying on a pair of jeans so small and tight that the only way to get the crutch centered is to do lunges around the house for half a day or more. Better yet, go to Macy's which has a particularly lethargic staff at the moment, and try on several pairs of skinny jeans while your children leopard crawl beneath the doors of occupied dressing rooms. The combination of pull, lunge and then bend and drag will undoubtedly toast your roast nuts in time for the Christmas season. And don't pick the blue denim skinny jeans. Because you don't want to look like you accidentally bought skinny jeans on your outing to the mom denim store. No, you want to pick something loud and bold like leopard skin. Leopard skin skinny jeans on chunky short legs is the equivalent of doing a little dance after you trip so that it looks like you totally meant to do that. If you're going to sweat it out on your bedroom floor trying to wrangle your legs in to pants while they threaten to initiate rigor mortise, damn it, you deserve to get a look from someone somewhere for your efforts.

Grateful Shmateful

"What's happening on facebook?" my husband asked.

"Oh you know, the usual, we're all very grateful." I answered as I scanned the status updates.

Most of them start with the disaster, "A typhoon swept my home away," or "My dog was run over twice, once in Drive and once in Reverse," but without exception, they all end the same way, "I'm so grateful." This is a very Christian thing, which in a link I'm not certain I understand yet, somehow makes it a very American thing too, this trend towards being verbally grateful, especially when it looks like there isn't much that's great to fill up on.

 I had never heard this before moving to America but I have heard it countless times since I moved here, most often when a woman or girl falls unexpectedly pregnant. "Oh well,"  they smile, "God wouldn't give me more than I can handle."  Are you certain of that? Because I am fairly sure that there is a homeless man standing in the snow off Colorado Avenue who could dispute that if he still had his mind. I can't decide if people say these things as a coping mechanism or if they are genuinly worried about undermining God's will. If the latter is so, I hope you'll consider how large the complaints department is and how well equipped God must be to handle these sorts of things.

And why is it so important to be so verbally  grateful all the time anyway? Maybe it's just a matter of getting to the punch line first? Maybe people who say these things know that if they don't say it, you will? My parents had a robbery where the car and a lot of things from the living room were stolen while they were asleep upstairs and all anyone could say when they heard the news was how "lucky" they were that it wasn't worse. "Funny" she laughed, "I feel lucky almost all the time but nobody ever mentions it until today which happens to be the one day I haven't been lucky at all."

 I'm not saying we should all mope around and feel sorry for ourselves but maybe there is something to be said for people who assume gratitude, people who barely ever discuss it because it's a given that life is precious and we're glad to be here to experience one more day on this fragile blue marble, even if this particular day wasn't so hot. Perhaps it's my English heritage, but I find people who cast an excellent complaint littered perhaps with a few choice curse words and punctuated with a laugh to be the most human people I wish to know. I feel somehow related to someone who says, "This morning was so bad that half way through my staff meeting, I was wishing I had scheduled my mammogram for today," and I feel I'll never really know someone who says, "My babysitter quit and I'm home with my sick children, but I'm grateful to be here."

And for crying out loud, can we all just stop being facebook grateful for our husbands? If you're so grateful for your husband, why not get off the computer and go and give him...you know...hugs. Making a public statement about it is just flat out lazy and honestly, if you say it more than once a year, I stop believing you. Maybe these husbands are too busy bringing their wives coffee or diamond earrings or something, I don't know, but it looks weird to see all these wives adoring their men who are silent in response.

So here's the point of all this. Try writing updates that convey how you're doing today without using the words, "blessed" or "grateful." Why not show us what you see when you look at your life without spelling it out for us. As your friend and your audience, I want to know you better so don't keep me at arms length by using all those general words that mask the really specific thing that's going on. I promise you that no matter how you feel today, I've been there too and I'd be...well....grateful, for the company.

Modest clothing

Clothes are so...modest now. I was walking around the women's department the other day, looking for your everyday slutty mini-skirt to pair with my push-up bra circa 1997 and instead what did I see? Knee length skirts. Sleeved dresses with belts that go around the waist. Shirts with buttons and pleats and dresses with... Petticoats? Makes you wonder doesn't it? (Probably not) Which came first, the clothes or the modest buyer? Have the Amish finally swayed the fashion world to see their side of the hem line?

I'm certainly not complaining. It's a lot easier to do my job (I'm a financial consultant for a Sales firm in New York that doesn't actually exist in real life.) wearing clothes that don't make me pretzel my way to the floor while I mop up dog puke with my bare hands. And my legs look thinner when only the bottom half is showing, probably because it creates this illusion that I'm hiding more leg than I really am under there.

It shouldn't surprise me that my husband hasn't noticed the trend towards modesty since he is the kind of man who has no problem going to work in black doc martens, a spotted tie and a flannel shirt, but it did surprise me a little. Then I remembered that men just see women naked, no matter what we're wearing, all they see is what their fabulous imaginations make up and reality plays almost no part in any of it, which is a beautiful thing.

Anyway, just thought I'd let you know, that it's safe to dig out that skirt you like but never wear in public because you're scared people are going to start treating you like Olivia Newton John before she put on the leather outfit in Grease.

Short shorts

Right now, you can't cross the street without running in to a Girlan (that's what I'm going to start calling a person who is too old to be a girl but too youthful looking to qualify as a woman) in those really short cut off shorts. You know the ones; ragged edges, probably denim, tighter than The Eagles singing Hotel California, shorter than your average maternity swim suit. Well anyway, if you're tempted, on that one day a month when you feel thin and beautiful and unbloated and unirritable and completely clean and unrushed and full of money to buy a pair, please consider this: it takes one and a half minutes of sitting on a toilet to get that pink ring around your butt. If it takes you longer than this to finish...you know....reading that article in National Geographic Traveler, maybe you should think about going a little longer on the hem and saving yourself from looking like a Waterbuck.

Clothes I own (and wear) but probably shouldn't.

I'll never forget walking down a street in Kathmandu, Nepal when I saw a girl walking towards me wearing Aladdin pants. She looked awesome. Seriously. She had on a tank top and the pants looked like she'd just sort of thrown them on and they made her waist look small and her walk look casual and I couldn't get myself to a stall fast enough to buy myself a pair of those pants in purple! Then I returned to Colorado and on my first walk down the street, my friend Phil shouted, "Can't touch this!" and started to do the MC Hammer dance on his driveway. I hope for your sake that you have no idea who MC Hammer is. I looked down at the long elephant butt crutch and the ballooning legs waiting for his words to shatter the spell, but no. I still love those pants. In my mind, I look just like the bohemian twenty year old and no amount of crab walking from Phil or anyone else can talk me out of those things.

I wish that were the only pair of pants in my wardrobe that people have begged me not to wear.

Then there is the blue dress. Oh man, the fabric is so soft, the skirt is loose and flirty and the top has enough ruffles on it that you actually can't tell if I have boobs, let alone boobs in or out of a bra. There is only one problem, the dress has an elastic waist. It's supposed to be worn around my waist, but I actually don't have one. I mean there is this very, very, short runway between my breasts and my hips but when I put on a dress like this, it just disappears and I turn in to Humpty Dumpty. I still wear it though, mostly I wear it when I'm at home because if Oprah suddenly comes to the door to hand me a million dollars, I don't want to be in my pyjamas while the cameras role and I cry with joy, but there's also a chance she might not pitch up in which case, I'd like to be very comfortable while I go about the glamorous work that is housekeeping.

And there is the box of thin clothes. The thing is, I saved all these clothes I was wearing when I was twenty five because they motivated me to get back to that weight after I'd had two children. I just didn't consider that two children would...you know....change things. So here I am, seven years later, back to the size I was before but shockingly, the clothes just don't look quite right. I look in the mirror and think, "Oh so this is what they mean when they say "Mutton dressed as Ham"." Still, I can't seem to let go of those clothes. There's a dress in there that I wore on our honeymoon and though it's not a great dress or anything, not particularly well made or classic in style and I probably wouldn't notice its absence if my house burnt down, I still put it on from time to time when the kids are asleep and my husband is doing a late night run to the grocery store, and in low light, after a few drinks, it looks just like it used to.

PS. No photos were used in this article since I know you well meaning readers would lie and say, "It doesn't look that bad," and further enable the bad dresser in me.

If I had a job that paid me actual money.

This is not a funny post, this is a very serious post. I have found beautiful dresses. Work dresses, date night dresses, your ex-husbands misstress' funeral dresses. There are so few advantages to being a woman. You get paid less but you're expected to spend more. You're in charge of growing babies and then you have the baby which leaves you with one big eye and one small eye not to mention all that other droopy stuff and all everyone can say is that you should try harder to look less like a mom. If you look too good you're trying too hard and if you don't look good enough you're not trying hard enough. Well I say, forget all that. Forget those haters. Clothes are supposed to be fun. And what is more fun than The Dress. While men are stuck in brown trousers all summer long, we have The Dress which is cool and colorful and a ready made outfit that takes seconds to put on. This is what Banana Republic has at their outlet mall (actually these are the last of them so if you are a size 4 or 6 and you like one of these, call me before I return them) and if you have a job that pays you real money, it is my opinion that you should own one of these. 

This is a Work and Date night dress. The top can hold you in enough that you're not having to adjust yourself all the time and the skirt is a nice, flattering and professional knee length. Still, the flare of that skirt is romantic enough to look good anywhere. Maybe this would be better suited for a blog post called "If I were Kelly Ripa." Because the skirt has a flare, you can wear this with flats without looking dumpy and if I were you, I'd wear red jewelry. This was my favorite dress because it was so versatile and it felt so cool in the heat but of course it was also the most expensive. This was $100 and I bought it in both a size 4 and 6.

The Date Night dress. This dress is just stunning. The belt and pockets on the skirt minced with that flirty frill on the collar....haba haba. I say that this is also a work dress if you can pin the neck closed a little so it doesn't go all the way down to Sexyville. And that color! It says to your co-worker or your date, "You better up your game darling." This is a classic so if you plan to be the same size for the next few years, you'd be right to invest in this dress which was $59.99. The one I am wearing is a size 4 but I also bought the size 6 to try on. Banana tends to be a little kind on their sizes so if you're normally a 6, you'll be a size 4 at their store.

This is a work dress. If you're not an Olympic ice skater, you'll probably have to wear heels with it since the skirt has no flare. Major pro: it does not crease. Major flaw: you'll have to suck in your stomach every time you get up from your desk. It's tight enough to look tidy but not so tight that it sticks to you. I was posing for these photos while my youngest was crying for me so I didn't have time to add jewelry but this style and color would be so much fun to bling up. On sale in a size 4 regular from Banana was $45. You can wear this in winter with boots, so if you ask me, that price is excellent....you know, if you have a job and all that.

A work dress. This is a size 6 from the regular department. Major pro: It was just $27. Major flaw: It creases. Still, it's linen so it creases expensively. This wasn't the right size for me but I loved it. Wear it with blue heels to work or black heels to the races. Full disclosure, I've never been to the races, so I have no idea what you would wear but in my mind, this is what I would wear.

Cowboy Boots for high arches

If, like me, you were born with a few unwelcome genes from one of your parents and one of them happens to be your fathers high arches; your hunt for cowboy boots is going to be about as disappointing as hearing Victoria Beckham speak for the first time. I can tell you right now that cowboy boots are high arch haters. If by some miracle of shoe horn you manage to get your foot past the curve of the boot, you're going to get stuck there because your feet are going to swell so much that all that foreplay energy you've been saving up is going to get spent trying to get those suckers off. I was told by a professional shoe salesman that I would never walk again....in real cowboy boots and that my only option was to buy these boots:

They are Justin Gypsy boots, they are very comfortable, run for under a $100 and when I tried them on, I almost cried. I have never felt less American than I did in these boots. I mean, where is the rest of this shoe? I get it, the corner has to be wider but why does the part that goes up your leg to make you look cool when you're wearing a dress have to be so short? If you have a pair of these shoes and you wore them when the country was going through the dress and cowgirl boots phase and you lived, then more power to you. Me, I wanted something more.

So I bought a pair of shoes from a (UK!) company called Frye Boots. My cowgirl friend told me that I looked ridiculous since no real cowgirl would wear those boots but my God I felt like I'd been given a second chance and I wasn't about to let it go. I think I look cute in them, so long as I am standing still that is since the only size that was on sale was a size bigger than I usually wear and so I have to wear thick winter socks in order to keep the boot from staying put while I walk on. And it's a heavy boot so no, it's not winning any comfort prizes and I look a little "weighed down" when I walk. But I bought them for under $100 which is crazy cheap in cowgirl boot speak and I can get my foot both in and out of them. Win!

Lastly, this is completely untested but here's another option worth checking out. It's a gumboot/galosh/cowgirl boot. I saw a woman in a restaurant wearing them so I looked them up. They are selling on Amazon for $35 right now so I'll probably wait until the entire world has bought them, driven the price up to $140 and then given them up for last years news before I buy a pair.
They are from a company called Nature breeze. Let me know if they are comfortable.

Mister Ugh

The creative genius behind this blog would like to apologise for the delay in reading material but would like to offer this explanation in response:

I ran a Half Marathon......yipee!......which made me feel like this.....

but before you can say "re-hydration" I rewarded my efforts with an eat-athon. So now I feel like this.....

Ones enthusiasm for clothes decreases with every single bite of lemon raspberry coffee cake, I can tell you that for certain, which is why I am typing this in my moo-moo.

Anyway, after a brief pause, a few bottles of TUMS and a little talking to myself, I'll be back.

Hairs to good here days

I have had a lot of bad hair in my life. Purple, permed, shaved, gray, yellow etc, etc. It took me thirty years to realize that people with good hair were not just born that way and that coloring my hair was not going to hide the extra weight I was carrying around. So I found a woman on youtube called "The Hip Chick Online" and she saved the day. Well, her and a colorist called Maxine at Toni and Guy who just ignores me when I talk. Anyway, since I don't have time to go shopping today, here is a quick before and after picture and a link to this magic woman who will finally show you how to use a curling iron. Honestly, if you have hair that is almost shoulder length or longer, you'll need a curling iron and chances are if you get a curling iron, you're going to need to watch this video.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=O85aM7-BZqM

Is that how I share a link? Did that work? I feel like a monkey sitting here fumbling my way through this stuff.




BEFORE: It's big, fuzzy hair. If there are any make-up experts out there, please call me.

AFTER: This is my pose and click face. But the hair looks better don't you think? I like to flip it from side to side and act like I am naturally this perfect.  

The cotton panties problem.



Hello from the overwhelming underwear choices at Target. Picture courtesy of my four year old son, Sam. Thanks Son.

Okay, so if you are in that phase of your life where at any second you could meet the man of your dreams and have an unexpected nude scene in the middle of the day, then this post is not for you. For everyone else, I present to you "the cotton panties problem" where if you're planning on buying a pair of everyday panties that nobody will ever actually see, you have to guess what the panties really look like inside the package and then blindly buy seven pairs all at once only to get home, find they make you look like you're dividing up your butt in to packs of four and then lie to yourself about how you'll take them back when really you're too embarrassed to take back an open packet of the worst underwear you've ever seen.

So I tried out six kinds of "bikini" style panties from Fruit of the Loom and Hanes. If you ever lose your luggage, you're going to end up buying a stash from one of these two companies so pay attention.


Worst packaging. It's like they're trying to shame you in to keeping these cloth diapers no matter how badly you want to return them. And they're huge. No joke, They went up to my belly button and I could still have used the left over fabric on the butt to carry a small child.

Okay so you have a bit of a butt AND you've lost your luggage AND you're kind of broke. Boy do I have the perfect panties for you. Seriously, these are a good fit and the colors were not as depressing as the other panties I tried.

These work well under clothes although they are more high cut than bikini. I say switch off the lights and put em on girl!

NO! Buying this sort of underwear will make you feel very very depressed. They are too small, no matter what size you get, they are too small, trust me.

These are what constitutes as a win in cotton pantie world since looks don't count.

Just one pair of shoes.

If, like me, you get one new pair of shoes this summer when really you need four different pairs of shoes, then you're going to need a pair of shoes that can do everything. They must not cost a fortune (duh!), they must endure long walks from the very last parking space on the parking lot which is where my dearly beloved insists on parking, they must make those slightly thicker winter legs look long and slender and they must be comfortable enough to wear while doing glamerous things like mopping up cat pee, physically breaking up a fist fight between brothers and bolting down the street to catch the run away dog. I hereby introduce to you....dum dada dum.....the shoes.

Okay, so I'm not sold on the bow, in fact I might just cut that sucker off, but I am sold on the price. These are $20 shoes from Nordstroms Rack. Are they gold? Are they silver? They're sort of both. They're metalic which means that they go with everything. Not too much heal that you get shin splints on your walk to work, not too little that your hems drag on the ground, not too much clunk that you look like a spaceman, not too dainty that you look like you're trying too hard either. They don't look like much but I will be wearing these all summer long. Oh and if you see them on-line, buy a half size bigger since they run a little small. And by small, I mean narrow.