Hello, friends! Let me begin this post by apologizing for my absence. I received comments from both of my followers (thanks for reading, Mom and Dad) about my lack of fresh content.
Hopefully today’s post will breathe a little life back into my blog. As I searched the skies (and websites and daily conversations) for something to share, I stumbled (quite literally, as you’ll see) across something I hope you’ll enjoy. Even if you don’t find it to be the most enchanting thing you’ve ever read, I hope you get a good laugh out of it.
I need to start off with a little explanation (or just a reminder, for those of you who know me well): I am a chick flick connoisseur. Name a movie featuring Meg Ryan’s wit and goofy charm, and I can likely quote every line. Tell me an upcoming film will be featuring a guy, a girl and a tale of sickly sweet true love, and I’ll reserve my seat in the theater. While critics tend to take these movies to task for being predictable and sappy, I can’t get enough. Pour on the sap! (Life is hard enough. I don’t need to subject myself to movies that make me feel even worse about the state of the world.)
That being said, I assure you that I haven’t let these romantic comedies go entirely to my head. While I would love to believe that I will one day find myself perched on a tree branch (which I climbed to escape an ogre who wants to eat me, naturally), and suddenly fall into the arms of a prince on a white horse who declares on the spot that he wants to marry me, I’m aware that it’s highly unlikely. (I hope you’ve seen “Enchanted.” Love it.)
I’m fine with the fact that the scenes in my favorite shows are staged and that I shouldn’t be expecting Channing Tatum to chose me over a military career or Ryan Reynolds to come to my office to proclaim his love for me. But yesterday, something happened that was right out of a movie.
Have you seen “The Wedding Planner”? Well, there’s a scene where Jennifer Lopez (who plays a fiercely independent wedding planner) is walking across the street on her way to work. Her hands are full, and she’s on her cell phone with her best friend. As she struts into the middle of the road, the heel of her new Gucci shoe gets caught in a manhole cover. As she bends over and struggles to pull the shoe free, she sees a dumpster rolling down the street toward her. Forced to make the impossible choice between her shoe and her life, she chooses her shoe. Of course. Luckily, a dashing Matthew McConaughey appears and saves the day.
Well, last Thursday I woke up and inexplicably felt like wearing heels to work. (I usually prefer flats for the office.) I decided wearing the heels wouldn’t do any harm, though, so I slipped them on. They were fine for most of the morning, and they even made my feet feel a little fancy. (That’s one of the few real benefits of pumps.)
Around lunch time, as I stood near a co-worker’s desk, rocking back and forth in my patent leather pumps, I heard a SNAP!, and I fell back against the cubicle wall. It turns out heels are made for walking, not rocking.
After I recovered my balance (and my composure), I limped back to my desk and prayed a dashing male actor would come strutting by, if only to distract everyone from my embarrassment. When he didn’t appear, I resigned myself to examining — and trying to fix — my shoe.
It turns out the heel of a shoe is a complicated beast. Who knew?
I searched the office for super glue and tried heavy-duty tape, but nothing worked. I only ended making it look worse (think popsicle sticks and Elmer’s Glue).
So I spent the rest of the day limping into meetings, tip-toeing into elevators and trying to balance on one leg. It was mortifying, but I couldn’t help thinking of Jennifer Lopez.
Luckily my shoe was made by Steve Madden and not Gucci, so it will be significantly cheaper to replace, but it turns out some things from the silver screen actually do happen in real life.
Perhaps I should plan a trip to the top of the Empire State Building on Valentine’s Day next year. There might be a dashing (and sleepless) stranger from Seattle waiting for me.