Ridonculous, yet paradealicious boots

The next time my father's in town, I'm going to introduce him to Sharon Monson.
Many of you know her as Kingston Mayor Harvey Rosen's fiance.
I used to know her as the woman with funky hair. It's mostly red, with a sweeping wave of platinum blond in the front.
I will now refer to her as Queen of Kingston's Santa Claus parade.
The boyfriend and I took our two-and-a-half month old baby to his first parade on Saturday night to see his older sister strut her stuff down Princess Street.
First, we watched a man try to throw his child on top of two Bell Canada phone booths so that she could see Dasher, Dancer, Prancer and Vixen.
Then, we saw MP Peter Milliken and MPP John Gerretsen wave to the people.
Props to you Mr. Speaker, for your blinking Christmas lights necklace.
Next in the Christmas procession was our mayor. He was in the festive spirit, wearing a Santa hat with a jolly white pom-pom.
And, in a Tammy Wynette moment, Sharon Monson, was by his side smiling, waving, smiling and waving and more smiling and waving.
As the happy couple strolled past us, I caught a glimpse of her feet.
"Ha ha! She's one of us!" I thought to myself.
Sharon was wearing footwear that would horrify my father. Sharon was wearing pointy-toed, high-heeled boots.
Not comfy but ugly Uggs.
Not comfy but ugly Crocs.
She was wearing stylish boots that were completely inappropriate to walk the route - but they were paradealicious.
I'm a short girl. I'm five-foot-four and three quarters of an inch tall. I never made it to 5"5.
I've also battled the bulge most of my life. I've been 125 pounds at my skinniest and 178 at my largest. And 173.5 at my most pregnantest.
Wearing pointy-toed, high-heeled shoes makes me, and you, appear longer and leaner. It's true. Just ask Stacy London of TLC's What Not To Wear. (Hey, I've got a lot of time to pass while I'm breastfeeding the babe and watching The Learning Channel is pretty much like reading. It's educational, you know.)
I never, ever take my high heels off.
I wore four-inch heels up until a week before I went into labour.
And now that it's boot weather, I rarely take my knee-high suede boots off.
They're an appendage to me, no different than my arms or legs.
But as rapper-turned-Hollywood hero Will Smith once infamously said: Parents just don't understand.
Whenever I go home for a visit, the first thing my father says to me is, "Sarah, take your boots off!"
I wear them inside.
I wear them while I'm lying on a couch watching TV.
I wear them while I'm making dinner, doing laundry, expressing milk.
I wear them while I'm going clothes shopping, even though as my parents point out, out it would be easier and faster to try on pants if I just had to untie a pair of running shoes than roll up my pant leg, unzip the long boot, and slide the boot off.
I sort of see where my parents are coming from here. I must be losing one-eighth of a second every time I try on clothes. I'm losing years off my life!
And yes, call the bad parents patrol - I wear my boots when I'm out with my son, lugging him around in his carseat and in walking him in his stroller.
You'll probably remember the media frenzy that happened last May when Britney Spears almost dropped her son, Sean Preston, while she was walking to her limo. Tabloid magazines and parenting groups jumped on the boo boo.
"She could have cracked his head open!" they screamed.
Many of Britney's detractors pointed the finger at the pop star's too-high shoes.
Her shoes, they said, were inappropriate mommy footwear. Her shoes almost caused chaos.
Soon, magazines were running features on which celebs wore safe shoes while carrying their children and which celebs wore bad, evil, too-high shoes while carrying their babies. Newly married Katie Holmes got two thumps up for her white runners. Not sexy, but gosh, were they practical.
Can you just imagine the horrors Sharon could have caused with her pointy-toed, high-heeled boots on Saturday?
She could have tripped. She would have grabbed Harvey for support and then taken him down with her.
The sheep, yes, there were sheep in the parade, would have trampled them.
Mayor down! Mayor down!
The police, firefighters and paramedics would soon be called and they'd all have to lose their spots in the parade lineup to attend to the mayor. The walking chicken mascot from a downtown fried chicken place would end up in distress from all the commotion and start nipping at the children there to see Santa. To save their children from the killer chicken, stressed-out parents would start pelting floats with their canned goods that were meant to be donations to the food bank. And soon, the news of the pandemonium would get back to Santa, and he'd grab his reindeer and the wifey and high-tail it back to the North Pole without any of our city's wish list letters.
The whole parade could have been ruined because of Sharon Monson's high-heeled boots.
But, as the cool kids say, let's not be ridonculous.
Santa safely made his way down Princess Street and I'm sure Sharon made it to the end of the parade unscathed.
Sure, the big red guy is the heart of the parade, but for us mommies in the crowd, the ones who refuse to wear mommy jeans and mommy shoes to match, Sharon was the sole of the event.