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.

You throw open your closet, throw on the first cute top you see and wear your butt jeans and sex kitten heels to compensate. You dash downstairs to join in on the Franzia fueled festivities and are greeted by a friend.

“Aw, don’t you look…comfortable?!”

Excuse moi? Comfortable? You weren’t thinking that exactly…just casual. But no – you have now been lumped into that category: you’re the girl who’s dressed down for the bar. Let us explore the positives and negatives of this conundrum.

Pro: Your feet are feeling mighty fine and you’re on your 8th rendition of the “Come On, Ride the Train.” Envious girls stare at you from their perches on bar stools—anything to get them off those blistering platforms. You enjoy the company of many a’ inebriated fella as they embrace your carefree love of dancing (read: drunken spinning and arm movements.) And while homegirl is teetering around on her 4 inchers trying not to slip in bar slime, you and your comfy arches make record time to the front of the line when it’s time to re up.

Con: As Mr. Cheeks would say, “Them high heels got them calves lookin’ right too!” Heels do have that magic ‘lift and strut’ factor, which is incredibly hard to imitate in flats…let alone under the influence of Irish Car Bombs. You will also be dwarfed by men and women alike, so don’t get separated from your girls; it might be a while until you reunite on line for the bathroom. Additionally, you might wake up the next morning with a case of stiletto toe: some girls just don’t watch (or care) who’s feet they step on, and your pedi will be the one to suffer.

Pro: Your jeans allow for a much larger range of motion than your girlfriends’ mini dresses and skirts. Bartop splits? You’re there. Compromising photos for the sake of a scavenger hunt? It’s all you, babydoll. Have no fear picking up your lip gloss when you drop it, and fret not about the proper method of entering and exiting a cab in front of the door line.

Con: That lack of a lil’ extra leg might get you passed over for shots from skeevy old dudes or no access to the velvet ropes of V.I.P., but rest assured in knowing your awesome night was earned on your own merits, not those of your stems or bootay.

Pro: Your clinking and clanking 498 bangles on each wrist will not add to the deafening bar noise of loud music and drunken shouting. You will not get your ring tangled in the locks of a lucky gentleman should you choose to partake in a makeout sesh. Your super freaking huge dangly earrings will not fall victim to an unfortunate dance floor accident, leaving your earlobe bloody and painful. Your overall lack of ridiculous accessories will send off a low key, Earth Mama vibe that cute hippie guys are very into…

Con: Should you be lost or just a little too good at drunken hide and seek, your friends will not be able to locate you acoustically. Additionally, no wasted girl in the bathroom will tell you 3 (separate) times that she LOVES your necklace and will give you 3 pieces of gum and her half full vodka tonic to “borrow” it for the rest of the night.

Pro: Your “less is more” approach to your makeup for the evening will not backfire at the end of the night, when your eyeliner is more smudged than smoky and your crimson lips are more Lindsay than Scarlett. You will have no cake-face after drunken (and unnecessary) reapplications, and your skin will be in considerably better condition the next morning.

Con: There aren’t any. No one should be allowed in public looking like this.

The Verdict: The pros of keeping it casual for the bar far outweigh the cons. Keeping your look chic but relaxed will let you focus more on your badass night than maintaining your eyeliner. You will give off a more approachable vibe, not only because you don’t look like “that girl,” but because things like dancing because your feet aren’t killing you and laughing because you’re not too busy sucking in your cheeks attracts other awesome people.

It’s fun to occasionally spend hours getting all dressed up and dancing around your room, but not always practical or appropriate. At the end of the night you walk out of the bar knowing you had a good time—and you were cute and comfortable doing so. And those glamazons eyeing you from their fixed spot at their V.I.P. table? They’re doing it because they’re jealous.

After he walked me to the door of his apartment, I was left to walk of shame it on home. Which was about seventy blocks away. The problem with this building was, I couldn’t navigate it. And so wound up getting off on the wrong floor and taking the first exit I found, trying to leave gracefully.

As soon as I left the elevator, I realized that this was not the right way out. To the doors I went anyway, but then… Click. I was locked in the vestibule. Too late. I sighed and opened the main door to go into a courtyard. Fine. I could see the street beyond the other apartment buildings in the complex.

But why was there a construction barricade in the way of the stairs?

Annoyed, I shifted said barricade to get by, then headed down the stairs to the pavement. Which was being torn up. Mud and grass everywhere, and construction equipment in the middle of this courtyard. And just between me and the street? Fencing at every single possible exit, all four of them. Wedged tightly enough against the red brick that I could not squeeze through, especially not in my winter-white jacket and dress/stiletto combination from the evening prior.

Did I mention that I was sober?

I called one of my friends and explained my situation.

“So, you’re lost? Do you want me to Google where you are… Wait, you’re lost in a courtyard?”

Yes. I was lost in a courtyard.

I was trapped, and I wasn’t exactly sure where within the apartment complex I was. I walked on the grass approximately three feet before my left foot sank, ankle deep, in mud.

“Noooooooo!”

My friend could only laugh as I whined and pulled out my foot, leaving my shoe behind.

“What do I doooo?” I moaned, digging for my shoe and shaking the mud out of it. I put my dirty foot back in my ruined stiletto and tried not to touch my white coat with my now dirty hand. Calling the date was definitely not an option. I could just imagine the conversation: “Hi… yeah, I’m locked in your courtyard…” It didn’t even sound believable to me and I was there. Hell no, he could think what he wanted of me without knowing that I was also a complete idiot.

I trudged to one fence and tried to see if I could hop it. No deal, not in a dress and the coat. I stood there, assessing it, hoping maybe it would shrink. My friend assured me that it wouldn’t. More moaning and whining. Time to be proactive.

I sloshed my way over to the last unchecked entrance, fifteen minutes after this disaster had begun, and just as I gave up hope, I found a person-sized opening in the fence. I squeezed through and stomped away from the buildings and directly toward a puddle, where I attempted to rinse my foot and hand, unsuccessfully. I assured my friend, who was possibly dying of laughter, that I had escaped, and went to hail a taxi.

Thankfully, my cabdriver was understanding enough to hand me a stack of napkins as soon as I got in, and reassured me that a shower would fix my life completely. It was only after I got back to my apartment that I realized the date had my umbrella. I texted to apologize and confirm, only to get a light-hearted response that yes, he had it, along with my belt. Tack it on my tab, ’cause those stilettos were unsalvagable and would cost a small fortune to replace.

Cheers.

I didn’t even have the energy to go back. What’s another $30 worth of accessories when you leave a blind date with a story like that?