Small Boo and I enjoyed a rather pleasant lunch the other day, at a hotel restaurant we’d expected to be at best vaguely competent. Later, I was idly spooooling through the establishment’s website when I came upon the mention of something called “Wine O’Clock”, which would appear to be the phenomenon we oiks might know better as happy hour. It all sounded a bit cheesy, but not bad enough to obliterate the memory of the quite excellent rhubarb and strawberry sfogliatina I’d had a few hours previously. And then: “On Thursdays Wine O’Clock pays tribute to ladies. All ladies receive a 5% discount for every inch of those high heels worn.”
Er... pardon? OK, leave aside the use of “ladies”, which sounds a bit twee to anyone who doesn’t regard “feminist” as a term of abuse. But the heel thing: essentially, they’re offering financial encouragement to women to wear heels as high as possible. Why, for crying out loud? Does an influx of tottering, unstable females automatically make the restaurant a more enjoyable environment for other diners? Does the potential for a spectacular, crashing collapse across a table, or even a more modest and discreet twisted ankle add to the savour of one’s steak or risotto? Who, exactly, benefits from this?
Not me. Heterosexual men are supposedly turned into the personification of drooling lust at the sight of a stiletto, but I just don’t get it, and never have. (The same, incidentally, goes for stockings and suspenders.) Give me a flat Courreges boot any day. And I don’t see why women should be applauded for wearing footwear that renders them incapable of running for a bus, when Nicolas Sarkozy is mocked for giving himself a little lift in the shoe department.
On the other hand I suppose it all fits. The cheaper you look, the cheaper your drinks are.
Er... pardon? OK, leave aside the use of “ladies”, which sounds a bit twee to anyone who doesn’t regard “feminist” as a term of abuse. But the heel thing: essentially, they’re offering financial encouragement to women to wear heels as high as possible. Why, for crying out loud? Does an influx of tottering, unstable females automatically make the restaurant a more enjoyable environment for other diners? Does the potential for a spectacular, crashing collapse across a table, or even a more modest and discreet twisted ankle add to the savour of one’s steak or risotto? Who, exactly, benefits from this?
Not me. Heterosexual men are supposedly turned into the personification of drooling lust at the sight of a stiletto, but I just don’t get it, and never have. (The same, incidentally, goes for stockings and suspenders.) Give me a flat Courreges boot any day. And I don’t see why women should be applauded for wearing footwear that renders them incapable of running for a bus, when Nicolas Sarkozy is mocked for giving himself a little lift in the shoe department.
On the other hand I suppose it all fits. The cheaper you look, the cheaper your drinks are.
11 comments:
It seems illogical to render people less capable of sure movement when their situation is already somewhat perilous.
Also, the idea of some waiter taking a measuring tape to a piece of footwear makes me shudder.
It's time to bring back the...."saloon bar"!
that picture made my heels wince.
trying to think of the men's equivalent that would be meant to reduce heterosexual women to lust. Y-fronts?
Bring some sensible shoes, and change outside the door.
I hadn't thought of the actual mechanics of measurement, Boz. Yes, much undignified scrabbling on the floor, I see it.
I'll be in the snug, Rog.
I think that was the general idea, Rosie.
Annie: or that lurex thing that Borat wore?
Good idea, Billy. So you only bugger your ankles for the duration of your visit.
i think the the men's equivalent should be a luxuriant moustache.
This seems relevant:
Three blokes drinking together reminisce:
"As good as this bar is," says the first, "I still prefer the pubs back home. In my local the barman really goes out of his way for the you. When you buy four drinks, he'll buy your fifth drink."
"Sounds great," says the second, "but at my local the barman will buy you your fourth drink after you buy the first three."
"That's nothing," says the third, "Back home my favorite pub is The Black Dog. The moment you set foot in the place, they'll buy you a drink, then another and another. All the drinks you can drink, actually, for free. Then, when you've had enough to drink; they'll take you upstairs and see that you get laid several times - all on the house!"
He swears every word is true, but the other men are suspicious of these outlandish claims.
"So," they ask, "did this actually happen to you?"
"Not myself, personally, no," he admits. "But it did happen to my sister a few times."
1. Women are lured into an establishment wearing "sexy" footwear with the promise of discounted beverages.
2. Drooling heterosexual men leap at the chance to purchase yet more booze for the stiletto clad "ladies".
3. Due to the increasing alcohol intake, it becomes progressively more impossible for anyone to go anywhere.
4. Everyone gets drunk and the establishment makes a dung pile of money.
It's a win-win situation for those who lack dignity and/or common sense.
I'm a girl and I don't get it either.
Anything higher than kitten heels and I'm in agony.
Then again, I'm 5'10", so I hardly need them anyway.
It annoys me that it's almost impossible to buy female footwear that is both classy and comfortable though. Sky high heels or unglamorous trainers or granny shoes seem to be about it.
Those heels in your picture brought tears to my eyes too.
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