Or it could be titled, “I’m an idiot.” Either one will work. So let’s set the stage . . . . .
As usual, I found myself at Target tonight. I CANNOT stay away from that place for more than a couple days in a row. Tonight I was in need of a birthday card and thank you card. I wanted to go to Walgreens, but I missed the turn so I just kept truckin’ to Target. I picked out the two cards and, hey, I was at Target. There are no simple in and outs at that place. It’s go in, get what you need, get what you want, get what you don’t need, get something on sale, put 4 of the 7 items in your cart back, go back for one of the items, feel guilty that you picked it back up, finally put that one back. I was in that sort of pattern tonight.
I needed the birthday card because I’m going to a party for one of my dear high school friends tomorrow night. Yep, we graduated together in Wasilla, Alaska and she lives in Vancouver (with her hubby who graduated with us, too). Small world, eh? About half way through my Target madness I realize, “Oh, I’m going OUT tomorrow night. Like OUT that isn’t church or Applebee’s. OUT that might require more than the usual tennis shoes I wear.” Crap.
So I wandered over to the shoe aisle and nothing is working for me. I have
an OCD behavior this cute habit of trying on the most outrageous, over the top shoe I can find knowing I will never buy it. Of course, I only do it at the serve yourself places. I would never ask someone to go get a crazy shoe just so I can get my jollys. So the wildest shoe I can find tonight is this one:
If you look at the website, you’ll see that there is a 4.25 inch heel on this shoe. I decide this shoe is worthy my ritual and proceed to stuff my foot into it. I’m wearing nice, thick white socks and my foot barely fits. I feel the resistance and that makes me only shove my foot in harder, while stomping it on the floor.
And therein lies my mistake.
I had forgotten that I stubbed my poor pinky toe really badly earlier in the evening. I had no reason to remember it because I’d been wearing tennis shoes all night. Ya know, shoes that actually accommodate my foot.
I guess I deserve the near-crippling pain that shot up through my leg from the pinky toe as I stomped the killer heel onto my foot. You have never seen anyone take off a high heel so fast. I didn’t even get to do my white-trash walk up and down the aisle in high heels with my white socks on, all the while saying, “Good grief these are uncomfortable” to no one in particular. Instead I just blinked back the tears as I limped to the check out. And I drove home trying to figure out how to make my tennis shoes look cute for a night . . . . .