Broke Boot Metro

Yesterday wasn’t the best of days. Actually, it was the latest in a string of not-so-good days. But yesterday was particularly bad. My coworker had a personal crisis that was so sad it made me nearly weep, and then I got into a huge fight with a dear friend and felt like I was having a heart attack.

And then, on my way to the metro after I left the office for the day, the heel of my right boot snapped off. It was still dangling to the upper part of the shoe by a few sinewy pieces of leather on the heel, but it would no longer serve as a support for my girth.

I was already having trouble walking yesterday because I was wearing a pretty tight pencil skirt that was static-clinging to my tights, causing me to have shuffle instead of taking my usual long, powerful strides. The absence of a right heel just about made me a contender for Monty Python’s Ministry of Silly Walks with my limping hobble.

The shame made my cheeks glow as red as my skirt (and my jacket, and my phone, and my mp3 player… I kind of like the color red). I’d like to think no one noticed my plight unless they looked directly at my shoe because I was I was balancing so gracefully on my toes. But the stares of passers-by told me this definitely was not the case.

What’s really eerie about this incident is that around this same time last year the heel on my previous pair of black boots broke off as I was hurrying to French class. And I was wearing the same outfit I had on yesterday. WEIRD.

So now I’m out a pair of black boots and I keep having dreams about buying a pair of Uggs and my conscious mind can’t understand this because I think they’re really ugg-ly and I’m just so scared and lonely and confused I want to ball up under my desk and dream about Wolf Blitzer instead.