Title: High Heels, High HELL

Rating: PG

Summary: So she rants about shoewear.

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She never, never understood what the woman who had invented these things had been on. They hurt her feet, they screwed her balance royally, and put her at a good four inches above the average man.

Yes, high heels were definitely not her favorite shoes.

Now, you could give her combat boots any day, and she'd be fine. Those were sturdy, dependable, and, most of all, she could freely kick ass in them. Literally or figuratively, it didn't matter.

But these shoes- these contraptions of pure torture- prevented her from being able to do that. Though, on second thought, she really shouldn't ever need to do that when she was wearing them. After all, there was no Goa'uld who was going to be able to find her, come 3 AM, in a restaurant or drinking.

Not that she drank much. You couldn't be sure when Earth would get tossed into the next crisis.

Actually, there was one little gray person who would be able to find her. But she crossed her fingers and hoped Thor didn't need any more 'stupid ideas'. (She had resented that, at least until she got to blow up their biggest ship. Had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that it was named 'The O'Neill'. Nope. Absolutely not.)

She would never see what good it did the women of Earth to wear such things.

Then again…

Someone was following her. Sam resisted the urge to turn around and deck him- after all, the man could just be walking home from the bar like she was. Why was she wearing high heels again? Oh right… Kathy had won their bet. Damn. She couldn't fight in high heels.

So she hung a left, into a street with more lights. The drunk followed. As she was considering her options, she felt a heavy hand fall on her shoulder.

That does it.

"Heh heh. Pretty little girl." The slobbering guy drooled as, very calmly, she flicked his hand off and turned around. Unfortunately for him, he took that as an invitation to try and grope her front.

Which Sam took exception to.

Five seconds later he was down on the ground, curled in a fetal position around what would be very, very tender in the morning- if it was ever the same again. Ignoring him for a moment, she took off a shoe and studied the delicate heel with admiration.

On second thought, she could very well see why people wore these.

So, appreciative of the lovely effect they had had on her stalker, she slipped off the other one and walked home, barefoot.

Mental note to self: High heels aren't so bad.