Gravity is not my Friend

Being a female I feel that there are unrealistic standards & expectations for the ability to wear heels. Expectations that I put into myself partially because I watch too much gossip girl. Have you, I wasn’t wearing Louis Vuitton’s but still. Here I was walking to my car minding my own business, I was confident, carefree, walking. Then the next thing I know I’m one foot deep in a pot hole screaming at the hot pavement. In disparity, I realize I didn’t even know I was screaming (so loud) my husband rushes up to me “are you okay” ect & I’m trying to figure out how I went from my high horse to the smell of burning flesh because in south Texas 97* outside means 907* asphalt. Spastically, like a fish out of water or a physically hot potatoe I’m struggling to get up confused, thinking “is this how it ends?” “This is how I become a paraplegic” “what is that smell?” “Is my ankle broken?” This is how I know I have a good husband a real winner- he picks me up without hesitation is ready to give me his shoes so he can take me back into the house. With somewhat dignity intact I refuse insisting I can in fact walk on heels and will make it back into the apartment. Because I didn’t fall because I can’t walk in heels because I can in fact walk in heels, I insist. It’s because of the damn pothole putting holes in the ground where they don’t belong. In a parking lot. When I get vertical again I look down to my leg which is quickly bruising into a dark purple. realizing I’m still screaming. We get back upstairs which is a miracle considering (I’m still wearing heels). I rush into the bath room luckily I still have an antiseptic pad I rip open a few quickly and slap them on my now exposed, bleeding self. I scream again. My husband is watching in disbelief “alcohol wipes really?” I look at him “I will not get an infection.” I’m screaming instead of crying because I don’t want to mess up my falsies & won’t bite the towel because I refuse to mess up my lipstick. I won’t look a mess because we are still going to the movies. A tube of Neosporin & a few fat bandages later I look like a voodoo doll that got pricked one too many times & am not back in my flats as I probably should be. 

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