So, I might be in the habit of buying high heels. I can’t help it. I love them. I they’re pretty. I like how they can make an outfit sassy or polished depending on the shoe. Plus, being vertically challenged, I like the height boost.
Now, I’m admittedly a klutz. However, generally, I trip in flats more often than heels due to what seems to be me consistent dragging of my right foot and I’m less aware of my feet in flats, because, well, I’m in flats. By the very nature of their name, flats imply less danger and challenge in navigating the world.
So, the Fella took me to meet two of his work peeps who are also good friend peeps (ie, they’ve known each other since I was still back in high school). S & K are both older than the Fella by a decade plus, and S actually has a daughter who is only 3 years younger than me from his first marriage. They live in a gorgeous old home that was built in 1911 with all the fun Craftsman details, woodwork, stained glass and charm that you’d expect in a 100+ year old home.
To go with the gorgeous, quaint old home there are giant, beautiful old trees. Trees with big roots. Trees with big roots growing next to the sidewalks I was to navigate to one of the urban oasis areas in StL from the beautiful old home in our quest for drinks and dinner.
Do you know where this is going? Let’s be fair to the Fella, I was fully warned ahead of time that we’d be doing a 10 minute walk to dinner. I was also treated to a full round of raised eyebrows when he watched me strap on my shoe selection. I was lightly mocked and gently encouraged to make another choice. Being hard headed and seduced by the siren song of these monster platform heels that had been singing so sweetly to me for the last week.
Let’s be honest. It was only a matter of time before the inevitable happened. Which was approximately halfway to the restaurant where a cut out for a wheelchair ramp plus my lack of depth perception fatally combined for a slow motion fall. I am proud that I neither scraped my knees, pants or hands as a consequence. The only thing that emerged with damage was my pride.
Predictably, S & K were making the “Are you OK?!” fuss. The Fella just stood back and then stuck out his elbow so he could escort me the remainder of the way. On an evening that was slightly too fiery to put two bodies together comfortably . . . it was a warm walk to say the least. That may have been a bonus as we couldn’t see how flushed my face was.
I have to give them props for being adults. If it had been my family, I would have been hearing about it all night. And most likely for the rest of my life. The only comment I heard about it was when I successfully navigated back home after 2 drinks and in the twilight (which makes determining cracks and uneven sidewalks extra tricky!). By the time we got into the car, I couldn’t wait to unbuckle the previously fairly comfortable shoes.
That walk home had me treading very, very carefully. And gripping as hard as I could with my toes, I suppose. I was rewarded with a nicely sized blister on the bottom of each big toe as well as on the balls of my feet. I suppose I’ve learned my lesson. The Fella isn’t a shoe guy anyway (I’m pretty sure I could walk around in some really gnarly bunny slippers and he’d be cool with it because it was comfortable) and there is no need to break my neck over vanity.
Except I have this pair of bright pink peep toes with bows on them that he hasn’t seen yet … aren’t they cute?