Of course, there is a bit of a back story…. as there often is…. especially when it concerns me. I have a bit of a shoe thing and I don’t want to use the word “fetish” because quite frankly it brings up visions of really icky things like old, paunchy balding men in latex underwear licking the bottom of a dominatrix’s shoe. Don’t judge, I saw it on an episode of CSI once and it stuck with me. Trust me it would stick with you too! Now I should mention that whatever one does is fine as long as it’s behind closed doors and the only parties are consenting adults. But really now, back to the shoes. I love stilettos, at least 4 inch heel height but I have some 6 inch with platform. Those are not for work, they are for fun. I know what you are thinking but it’s not true, Saks doesn’t sell stripper shoes!
So last week, we had a wedding on the calendar. Our dear friends daughter was marrying her high school sweetheart and we knew it would be a fun wedding. So I ordered the dress and it was a fun but a bit edgy design. Now the first thing that comes to mind is how am I going to put this outfit together. Do I go refined or do I play up the edgy? I decided to play up the edgy. Big statement jewelry but what to do about the shoe? I was puzzled as I stood in my closet. There were many choices that would work but where was “the” shoe? Shit, I don’t own it. Off to the mall… an hour later I am leaving the shoe salon with a rapid fire purchase of a 6 inch platform, mixed media, strappy pewter stiletto. Shoes? Check!
After pulling the rest of my act together, I went into the closet to shimmy into my dress, throw on my accessories, put on my shoes and grab my clutch and that’s when it started to go sideways…. you know, downhill? In the shitter? I couldn’t find my thick pewter hammered cuff with the hanging chain fringe…. I searched furiously through the drawers of my jewelry chest. No cuff…. Through both drawers of bangles… no cuff. Where the hell is it? My husband is now giving me the not so subtle, “Let’s go!!!” that he had been giving me 10 minutes ago with his own edgy attitude. I sigh in frustration and yank another drawer open. It turns into a spring loaded bomb of bangles of every design, thickness and material causing me to flinch and take cover from the shrapnel and impending bloodshed from the explosion. My closet is officially a Federal Disaster Area! Call FEMA! Stat!
“Stephanie Kline!!!! Let’s go!!!!” I am always in big trouble when he uses my last name, or his last name, however you look at it he is 3 seconds from thermonuclear… which to be honest isn’t all that bad. He is very indulgent with me and basically thermonuclear equals a baleful stare and a few curt words and then he is holding my hand being the life of the party. But why push the issue?
I crouch down and throw a few handfuls of ornamentation back in the drawer that is now resting on the floor. That will have to do. I grab my clutch and in a burst of power jump out of my closet…. and land a bit funny on my right foot. Okkkkk, I can do just about anything in heels and I rarely take a misstep but it can happen. Second time I step with my right foot, same thing.
“Stephanie KLINE!!!!” …..Oh for fuck’s sake, I am coming!!! I think to myself….out loud. So back to power walking and my next step with my right foot on the wood floors in my bedroom ends spectacularly….. Something causes my right foot to shoot out from beneath me, causing me to do a split in my Halston dress and desperately throw my arms over the sleigh at the footboard portion of the bed to keep me from fracturing my vagina. Anyone who contends that you cannot, in fact, fracture your vagina is welcome to come to my home and we can reenact the scene and when you do a split and your girlie parts hit the floor at Mach 6, you will be certain that not only have you fractured your vagina, but you have torn your cervix and bruised your spleen as well. As I slink to the floor with a smarting spot on my rib cage from the bed, thoughts race through my head… Have I made it this far in life without a corn on a toe or hammertoe on my foot just to lose the ability to wear heels as I am walking out the door for a wedding? I could walk in these just fine 2 hours ago when I bought them. I am stumped and dumbfounded. As I look at the offending foot/shoe, I see something…..
What is that??? Have I stepped on something??? It’s white and it’s bumpy and the size of a pea. I stare and as I reach out to touch it, I think it looks just like a tooth stuck to the bottom of my shoe…. A molar….. It’s hard, its white, and it’s shiny and….I KNOW WHAT THIS IS…. it’s a freaking 6 yr old molar that came from my son’s mouth and it is embedded in the bottom of my shoe. I have to pull his tooth for the second time and this time I am getting off without giving him $10 but I am definitely chipping my nail in the process. This is exactly what I get for saving their teeth in my jewelry chest. Back in the closet, baby teeth from my 2 oldest litter the floor like an anthropology exhibit from every single age in history. I can’t help but save them. I made those teeth all by myself. YES, all by myself! My husband gave me this tiny microscopic ingredient and I alone turned out a fully formed baby. Look at it this way, he brings home a pinch of salt and I make a 7 course French dinner, who actually made dinner? You’re damn right! ME! Anyway, I digress. Never once when I saved those beautiful pearls that I stole from beneath their pillows as they slept soundly did I ever imagine that it could backfire in such a fashion….
I stand up. Pull my dress down from around my waist, grab my clutch and put on my party smile as I leave my bedroom and make my way down the stairs.
“What were you doing up there?” He is definitely slightly annoyed.
“I was nearly killed by the tooth fairy!” And if you are married to me, you just look at me for a beat and slowly turn your head. He doesn’t want to know…. Really, it’s better this way.