We’ve All Been There: Stiletto in Sidewalk

By Lauren

The week from hell is finally over. Three exams, a paper and a group presentation (though “group” is a loose term since you pretty much did the entire thing) down, now 5 shots and a few hours of dancing to go.

You are exhausted, but also ready to grab a bottle of Boones Farm and get this party started. You head home, load up on the carbs and get ready for a night of post-hell celebration with the girls.

Being that you spent every waking moment (and there were a lot of them) of the last week in sweats, you want to doll it up for tonight: tight jeans, low-cut cami and the highest of heels that you’ve got. You don’t say this often, but you look good. Really good.

You head to the kitchen where you “eyeball” a shot – or 2 – into a glass, fill it with your mixer of choice and mix it all together with whatever is closest: a knife, your finger…. Pretty soon the rest of your friends are ready to go and you head off into the night.

As soon as you get near the bar and see the super long line, you realize you weren’t the only one lookin’ for a little release that night. It’s fine, though; when it comes to getting your groove on, the more the merrier.

You spot some handsome lads waiting to get in and decide to use the time it takes to get to your place in the line to work it a little. You throw your shoulders back, stick your chest out and engage in a hilarious conversation with your friends (to show off that adorable smile) as you make your way to the end of the line.  All is going well until, BAM, your heel gets stuck in a crack in the cement and you are literally stuck in place.

You try to wiggle the heel out quickly before anyone notices, but it’s really jammed in there. Your friends, now realizing that you are no longer with them, turn around and notice you struggling. Instead of coming to your aid, though, they just point and laugh. You continue to pull, strain and shimmy your way out of the precarious situation, but the shoe just won’t budge.

Soon the entire line notices you, which isn’t hard seeing as you have now removed your shoe and are on the ground prying it out. You finally yank it out (the force nearly tossing you to the ground), put the shoe back on and try with all your might to regain your composure (and wipe the sweat off your brow) as you continue to walk past all the laughing line-dwellers.

And while the whole sex appeal thing has gone out the window, the situation isn’t all bad. It seems that everyone inside recognizes you, leading to plenty of free pity shots.

Yeah, we’ve all been there, honey. This is why God invented flats.