Wednesday, June 8, 2011

The Sober Stumble Incident

I have a confession.

I don't drink very much.

I love a good jack & coke as much as the next girl, but I'm really uncomfortable drinking at large parties or around lots of people I don't know. The exception being weddings. I can't resist mimosas.

It's a happening Friday night early in the spring, right after one of my plays had wrapped. The main drag (same street as the panties incident) is packed with people, celebrating the unseasonably warm weather. I had plans to take one of my best friends out for a drink, since it happened to be her 23rd birthday. Twenty-three seems really old to me. Maybe she would impart some sagely wisdom on me. I got ready for the night in a simple black top, skinny jeans and -

I have another confession.

I am not a "shoe person," but I absolutely love Steve Madden sky-high wedges.

I've only posted a handful of times, but I'm sure the combination of high heels + awkward person is already leading up to some pretty hilarious equations in your mind. I stapped on a pair of killer metal-studded, black wedges that must be at least 6 inches high. "Oh la," I though to myself. "I am so glamorous and chic and poised in my designer shoes, maybe I should get a pair of those 10-inch Alexander McQueen armadillo shoes. Because I am so tall and sexy and did I mention poised?"

The Alexander McQueen shoes. Probably a bad idea.

My dear friend and I go out and have to settle on a pizza place, since no bars are letting my shamefully only-twenty self in (I once got dumped by a guy because of this). She has two beers. This already makes her giggly. I have zero beers. I am stone-cold sober and the designated driver.

La la la, headed back to my car, sashay, sashay, don't I look poised? Then, I step on a pebble.

BAM. There is no way to regain balance in giant shoes. The pebble launched me forward and I sprawled across the sidewalk, on my hands and knees, scraping up my elbows in the process.

"Oh no oh no oh no" I thought maybe I'd managed to avoid being spotted or escape with a couple snickers.

"WOAH, CRAZY DRUNK CHICK." Across the street, an intoxicated young man was shouting at me, flailing his arms and pointing. Everyone in a 20 foot radius turned to look at the crazy drunk chick. I am still on the ground at this point, trying to stand up, while my friend is doubled over heaving with laughter, not helping me out.

"YOU ARE OUT OF CONTROL DRUNK CHICK. LOOK AT YOU. TIME FOR YOU TO GO HOME." Still yelling at me. There was a huge clump of people now staring at me as I stumbled to my feet and brushed my knees off. How many friends did this guy have?
My friend was still bent over laughing, and I had to drag her away from the scene.

"YOU NEED TO GO HOME DRUNK CHICK. SOMEONE TAKE HER HOME." The shouting began to fade as I thankfully crawled into my car. In the drivers seat. And drove both of us home. Soberly.

Now, I wear heels in public about as often as I drink in public... which is never.

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