These shoes may be hazardous to your mental health!

Embarrassing Story #138

Age: 18
Location: Clarkston Church House

It was a warm spring Sunday. The final hymn had been sung on a fast Sunday and you know what that means. It means you bolt for the exits with mom's Sunday roast and funeral potatoes on your mind while your stomach growls like a chained dog. I congratulated myself on manuevering around Mrs. slow walker and her chatty husband. My little sister was not far behind. I clomped out of that chapel at break neck speed. My shoe of choice for the service that Sunday? Why these lovely platform flip-flops pictured above. Looking back now my bad fashion karma was just coming back to bite me in the butt. This all could have been avoided if I had listened to my mother and worn those low conventional heels that sat gathering dust in my closet. The trouble arose as I began galloping down the dramatic wide staircase that is characteristic of old church houses. I remember feeling a vague sense of foreboding. A thought that maybe my platformed feet were getting away from the rest of me. Then it went into that slow motion time frame when you have a million thoughts buzzing around in your head while you slowly watch your body cartwheel out of control. The foremost thought being, "WHAT COLOR UNDERWEAR AM I WEARING?" I'm not exactly sure how it happened but I remember an ankle twisting here and then a leg jutting out there. A brutal carpet burn on my elbow and then rolling down the stairs like a hotdog. I slid on my bum like a child for the remaining stairs and somehow ended up at the bottom of the stairs on my back. Mayonnaise white legs askew and pale yellow skirt around my waist. I lay stunned for a few seconds and as I rolled my eyes back to glance up at the stairs I saw dozens of shoes coming down the stairs. I jumped to my feet as my sister came towards me asking me if I was okay. I was the color of a red ripe tomato and I mumbled, "Yeah." To her credit she had the decency not to laugh. I intentionally ingnored other congregation members thoughtful inquiries as to my sense of well being. I began limping out the door as diginified as one possibly can when one has flashed one's purple fruit of the looms to a good portion of your local religious neigbors when I heard my name called. I gritted my teeth and turned around. There was Miguel Gonzalez holding a black platform flip flop. I snatched it from his hand and trudged out of the building with one shoe on and one shoe dangling from my fingertips. It's ironic that my shoe savior was Miguel. He is the subject of embarrassing story #139, but I'll save that for another day.