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In the 60th when I was 20 I liked to wear shoes with very high spiked heels. This made me look even taller than I was just like a beanstalk. But fashion was fashion and therefore a must.
The use was going out on Saturday evenings dancing, together with my friends. At that time the Dancings as we called them were open at 8 pm until 1 am and not longer because the last Bus or tram home was at 1 am. It was not like today, where everybody has a car and "Dancings" really start only around 11 pm !
One evening besides the usual friends, I met a very handsome boy. I like handsome guys but not at all when they know it and behave as if the world belonges to them and take everything for granted.
While I balanced on my spiked heels to the music, he told me how wonderful he was and that he (or rather his parents) lived in a mansion with tennis court and inside swimming pool. Now this was quite unusual in the 60th but the description of his "palace" didn't impress me at all, I even got more bored. The boy not used to any female resistance, doubled his efforts and I doubled my dislike. Finally he suggested to drive me home.
Considering that it was already late, and then the fact to be driven back home in a beautiful red sportscar with leather seats and a wooden elegant dashboard, which I had never done before, I said yes. I said good bye to my friends who looked a little jalous because of the car and not because of the boy, and went out with him and we went to his car.
After a while driving in the right direction he suddenly changed the way and instead of driving me to my home he wanted to drive me to his, probably to show me his "stamp collection". I protested. Probably very angry but showing nothing, he changed and went to right direction.
At the beginning of my street he suddenly stopped the car, turned around and tried to kiss me and some more. I got furious, tried to get rid of him, but couldn't, remembered suddenly my spiked heels and managed while pushing him away, to take one shoe off. With all the strenght I could gather, I smashed my shoe in his direction and hit him at his head.
He screemed like a siamese cat and started to swear with a waterfall of very elegant words I had never heard in my life. While he tried to stop the running blood over his face, I managed to get out of the car and stumbled as quick as I could on one spiked heel and barefoot on the other, up the hill to my home.
I have never seen him again but blessed my fashion shoes with spiked heels.
This adventure was possible in the 60th ! Today it would be out of question and far too dangerous to get in a car with an unknown boy.
This type of "self defence" is in fashion today !
