Would you laugh if you saw Lucille Ball slipping on a banana peel? Evidently the tourists of Crazie Town would, because I’ve been asked to give more humiliating details of my ego killing shoes.
Last Friday, I was invited to lunch on the Plaza (Kansas City’s equivalent to LA’s Rodeo Drive) with several ladies that I used to work with at Big Corporation. I knew these women would be wearing their hippest duds and I was looking forward to dressing up — as I’ve spent the last few weeks wearing tattered sweats, hunched over my keyboard, frantically working to finish my first novel by the end of the year.
Evidently, I’ve also spent the last few weeks stuffing my face because when I attempted to pull on my “cool” jeans, they wouldn’t fit. I pulled out my industrial strength Spanks and tried again. Success! I slipped the Killer Shoes on my feet, took one last satisfied look in the mirror and tottered out the door.
I met my fabulous looking friends at the entrance to the restaurant and then, we paraded single file behind the hostess to a table in the back. With a haughty smirk, I strutted my stuff past several booths of perfectly dressed Ladies Who Lunch.
BAM! In a prat fall that would have made Lucille Ball proud, my feet shot out in front of me and I was on the floor. I blinked a couple of times, wondering why my view had changed from people’s faces to people’s feet. A woman in the booth I’d collapsed in front of, leaned down and whispered “I almost did that same thing.” Was that supposed to make me feel better?
When I realized my friends had not noticed my ego-busting move, I climbed back up on my towering heels and shuffled quickly to the table. I would have made a clean getaway, except the manager came over to see if I was all right. I waved him off, with my left hand and spent the rest of the meal trying to ignore the throbbing in my right wrist.
There’s the story, my inquiring friends. Oh, one more question that several people asked. Did I finally shout a curse as I fell? I am sorry to report that the two words that escaped my mouth were…Oh My. I also vividly remember hanging on to my purse, evidently in case I was mugged while lying on the floor.
When did I become my Great Aunt Marjorie? I guess I should be grateful I didn’t break a hip.
You missed your chance to be on You Tube!! Good thing no one had the camera ready…..
It would make a great headline. “Senator Wife found passed out on restaurant floor!”
You were already labeled the new Aunt Margie when you used the phrase “I knew these women would be wearing their hippest duds..”
Ha! “Duds.” What was I thinking?
About 15 years ago I had a similar incident but in the parking garage on the way to the fancy restaurant. Also on the plaza, also wearing fancy shoes. I decided right then that life is too short for dangerous shoes.
I think you might have been meeting me for that lunch. Oh, we’re quite a pair, aren’t we?
Thanks for filling in the blanks! It does sound excruciating! Glad you can now get on with it as I’m enjoying these Sunday afternoon stories. Phyllis
Inquiring minds want to know the details of the misfortunes that befall their friends. It’s caring at its most basic form.
What did you have for lunch and did it help the throbbing in your right wrist? Did you have a drink? Or two?
I’m glad that you’re okay. I know how much damage killer shoes can do.
I really didn’t give my Great Aunt Marjorie enough credit because she would have ordered a double bourbon on the rocks. Me? I had an iced tea.