I am a shoe fanatic, but I am not in love with every shoe style. I particularly have never had an affinity for “mules”, clogs, whatever you want to call them. I called them the devil’s hooves because I always believed they were created in Satan’s ward and sent to earth as a visual agitate for me and me alone.
Any who, this story dates back to the late 1980’s. (Don’t judge me by my age.) I was in elementary school and quite a sassy child when not being observed. I do not know who gave me a pair of mules (I’m sure they hated me) but I somehow ended up wearing them to school.
On this particular day, I sassayed into the building with a skirt, blouse and my devil’s hooves. I just knew I was cute. It didn’t matter at that moment that I had no ankle support. All that mattered was that I WAS QWAUETT (cute). It wasn’t very often that I got a new pair of shoes so I was determined to strut like a peacock.
Ohhh, and strut I did. From 1st period to 3rd period I made sure it was “all eyes on me”. If I was called on to answer a question I would stand up from my seat, make my way to the front of the class, push my foot out in front of me as I stood bow-legged (Had to make sure they saw my shoes) [insert wink emoji] and state my answer. Of course I chose to ignore the fact that my teacher didn’t require all of that. She just wanted a response from my seat.
Well the bell rang, indicating that it was lunch time, I quickly made my way into the line forming at the classroom door. With my head held high and my big toes firmly planted at the top corner of my mules I proceeded to do my strut…..
Then… We reached the stairwell.
“[Brenda, you got this, breathe, just slowly go down the steps one at a time].. That was my internal encouragement.”
Okay so I failed to mention that even with all my strutting not only did my feet hurt, I kept wobbling. My hooves would randomly slide while I was walking and I was secretly miserable.
I picked a focal point on the wall in front of me and grabbed tight to the rail. I blindly stepped down and my foot landed on a step. “Yes!” I was going to make it! Then the inevitable happened. Not only did I miss the next step I did a back flip and rolled down the remaining steps. My legs went up in the air, skirt flew up and my mules [devil’s hooves] landed at the bottom on the stairwell.
Needless to say I survived because it is now 2019 and I’m still alive to tell this story but let’s talk about PTSD. (shaking my head)
…Can we all say in unison “NEVER AGAIN”…