Head Under Heels

See these shoes?

They almost killed me today. 

But let me back up and start at the beginning.  Today I dropped BOTH of my children off with a friend.  Or perhaps we should call her AN ANGEL STRAIGHT FROM HEAVEN.  Because she gave me my first child-free ALONE hours of the entire summer. 

And it's been a long summer, y'all.

Don't get me wrong, my children are lovely.  They are well-mannered (mostly) and they get along with each other really well.  So normally we'd be having The Time of Our Lives.  A Summer to End All Summers!

Except the weather here is something akin to living on THE SURFACE OF THE SUN.

So we've been spending a LOT of time together cooped up indoors avoiding, you know, SOLAR FLARES and RIVERS OF LAVA.

Wait.  I got off on a weather-is-killing-me tangent.  We were talking about shoes, weren't we?

So, I dropped my kids off with (God bless her ever-lovin' soul) Lisa and headed out to cross eleventy-million errands off of my list.  The bank.  The dairy store (milk), the post office.  And? The shoe store.

Mecca.

I received some birthday money from my in-laws (thanks P&A!) and decided I'd like some of them there fancy-pants gladiator sandals.  Because that's what all the cool kids are wearing, yes?

I have no idea. 

So I went to DSW.  A big 'ol warehouse-y shoe store nearby, where I wandered the aisles at a leisurely pace (with no kids! YAY!) trying on shoe after shoe without a care in the world.

Which was how it was that I found myself trying on those platform jobbies pictured above.  I did not in any way intend to BUY them, but they were SO CUTE I couldn't help but try them on.

I wandered over to the full-length mirror (a short distance away) and admired the shoes for a moment.  Then I walked back to where I'd left my (comparatively matronly and practical) shoes.

And that's when it happened.

I lifted one leg up with the intention of unfastening the buckle, except that, apparently, my remaining leg was not prepared to handle all my weight while precariously balancing on that (albeit cute) but very HIGH and UNSTABLE platform.

And so I fell.  All the way to the floor.  IN THE SHOE STORE.

Oh and it gets worse.

The sales clerk and another customer SAW ME AND RAN OVER to laugh in my face help me.  And because of the way I'd fallen (with one leg tucked under me, and one stretched out in front of me), and because I was wearing a dress, well, they all saw my panties.  My big middle-aged suburban housewife panties.

And so, because I was humiliated (the panties were BEIGE, y'all!), and because I'd actually really hurt myself (my wrist! from catching myself!), well, I cried.  Not a full blown boohoo, but still.  There were tears.

I did that thing where you jump up real fast and pretend that you're just fine and that you actually MEANT to do that.  Except that I was struggling like a baby deer on an icy pond because 1) I'm old, 2) I was hurt, and 3) I was still wearing the (godforsaken) shoes.

I think I blacked out after that.  The next thing I remember I was on my way home wearing my matronly flip-flops and wondering what had happened to my wrist.

Strangely, there is a pair of gladiator sandals in my possession, so I must have had the presence of mind to make a purchase.

Pain and humiliation are no reason to come home empty-handed.