My motorcycle boots make a lot of noise, and that is intimidating.
I know this because I wear them often. And more than a few times on dark streets in late nights I've seen grown men slow their pace in order to get the advantage of walking behind me.
*stalkin, walkin in my big black boots*
Brother J would understand.
These men are always larger than me. Most certainly physically stronger. Tonight it was a gentleman with a big dog who could have easily pawed me to death. But tonight he was frightened by sounds.
Just. Sounds.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
I have girlie shoes as well. Teeny tiny heels that make a bitchmade clicking sound as I walk. They shorten my stride by about 50%. I am Geisha, with all of the poetry taken away. A butterfly missing wings. Don't get me wrong, I know girls who rock 4-inch heels as easily as I do Adidas. But for me, all of that prancing is female to the nth degree with almost none of the inherent power included.
And still. I like it.
Click. Click. Click.
Construction workers stop their discussions about I-beams. Brokers quit talking about the stock exchange. The world pauses for high heels. It's amazing to see in action.
But the Mighty Click is no different than the Mighty Thud, when you get right down to it.
People have decided who you are before they have even laid eyes on you.
And most times, they are wrong.
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