Beauty Hurts...and can even kill.

This evening I had plans to have dinner with Susan, David, and Maria. It's a standing thing. Every Wednesday we get together, after Susan and Maria are done with dance in Jupiter, and it's typically around 8:45pm before we meet up to eat, drink a sensible one alcoholic beverage, and catch up. Most times I just throw on a schlumpy outfit and go with just my work make up and greasy hair. It has been a while since we have done this, as Maria and David were on their honeymoon last week, the week prior I had rehearsal, and the week before that was holiday craziness.

So, in my infinite wisdom, I decided that an evening at the Yard House (a somewhat popular local restaurant with great music and a bar designed for the meat market that is Palm Beach County) after so long without deserved special accoutrement. I curled my hair, redid my makeup, and put on skinny jeans with a sweater and my super high black heels. I hopped into my Mini Cooper, and away I drove.

I pulled out onto the main strip outside of my parents house, merged into traffic, and got up to the normal 50 mph speed limit. About a block from the red light at the major intersection I was approaching, I attempted to ease my foot off of the gas pedal to begin braking lightly, as there were cars stopped at said red light. My foot would not move. The bottom of my heel had wedged tightly in the area where the gas pedal was attached to the floor. I tugged frantically with my foot, trying to dislodge it to no avail. I felt like I was in a bad film...time slowed down, and all I could focus on was the fact that I could not brake, that I was about to plow into the back of another vehicle, potentially injuring another person or persons, and that I was basically about to die because of my ridiculous, $50 black pumps that I bought at Macy's on a whim. At least the saleslady got her commission.

In a matter of seconds, I realized that I could pull my foot out of the shoe and it would no longer be pressing on the pedal. (I am a super genius, I know.) I slammed on the brake, not realizing that I was still a good 30 feet from the car in front of me and came to a dramatic stutter stop. I gingerly made my way to my spot at the light, came to a complete stop and began to frantically tug at the stupid shoe that could have been the end of me. It would not budge. Of course, being a girl on a budget, I focused on the fact that I could not break the bottom of the shoe off, as $50 is $50.

After what seemed like an eternity, the shoe came free. I threw it on the seat next to me, and drove the rest of the way to the restaurant with one shoe off. I told my friends the tale of how I almost died, and they sympathized. 2 hours later, we headed our separate ways. I took the shoe off again, and drove with one bare foot home. About half way there, my phone rang and it was David. The first thing he uttered was, "I forgot about your shoes. Are you ok?"

I assured him that I was just fine, driving partially barefoot so I would make it safely home. We hung up, and I realized (again) that I have really great friends who will always be there for me and are cognizant that with me, everything, even footwear, can be an adventure.