In Which I Demonstrate My Inability to Learn. At All.

So there I was, hanging at a club with my friend Jennie. Let me say right now that Jennie is an effing KNOCK-OUT, and the only reason I can put up with hanging with her at ALL is because we've been friends since we were ten and I suppose I have to. Otherwise I would thnk up a lot of reasons to avoid hanging out with a girl who's 5'11" in bare feet and could easily grace the cover of Vogue.

I'm so altruistic, aren't I?

Anyway. As I was saying. There I was. She had had the audacity to show up at my house wearing a dress, forcing me to put on something cute, but it gets worse: she was wearing HIGH HEELS. And I had woken up Saturday morning with a SOFTBALL-sized lump of swell on my right ankle, necessitating immediate ibuprofen, at which point I realized I was ghetto enough to have EXPIRED ibuprofen.

And therefore--and I'm not proud to admit this--my ankle was so badly swollen (it increased to cover the entire right side of my foot by about six pm) that I had to wear flats to the club.

I know. My entire closet of hot shoes yelled as me as I walked out the door. Also, the ibuprofen may have been causing me to hallucinate.

How did I happen to hurt my ankle, you ask?

I'm so glad you did. I can't believe this, but apparently I'm taking a break from being an attention whore and am making something of a habit of hanging out with beautiful girls half a foot taller than me. Because the very previous night I was out celebrating my friend Leslie's birthday--who is knock-out 5'10" redhead with cheekbones to set a drink on--and we were walking out of the club and she was complaining that her feet hurt, and of course I laughed at her, as I was strutting along in my patent leather boots.

"Ha-HA," I said, chortling. "Whereas my feet are AWESOME. Because as I am not goddess-sized, missy, I actually have to get used to heels, and therefore I'm so good at heels I can jump around in them!"

I attempted to demonstrate. I'll let you guess what happened next.

My landing was so bad that I think I actually hit the ground with my ankle bone. Leslie was laughing so hard she could barely support me to the car, and this would be a lot less interesting if I hadn't done exactly the same thing a week ago.

Election Night, 2008: Memorable because we voted in a black president and I decided to frolic--wearing a very nice pair of patent leather boots. I frolicked down some steps, and I landed so wrongly--so very wrongly--that I shoved the heels of both boots up into the boot, breaking the shanks. And of course, I rolled my ankle.

This made the boots famous when I limped into my cobbler the next day with my broken soles (sorry. He looked them over and then looked at me.

"It's going to cost you, honey," he said, "and by the way, Aarwenn, how the hell did you manage to actually BREAK these boots?"

"I was frolicking down some steps on Election Night," I mumbled. He burst out into laughter. I snarled. (Yes, we're on a first name basis. Besides frolicking, I slam down on my heels when I walk--it's part of my famous strut--and I wear out shoes and heels very, very quickly. I recommended him once to a table full of girls and Sarah asked me where he was located. I just pulled one of his cards out of my wallet and handed it to her.)

Moving on. I've come to the conclusion that I should never actually WEAR these boots, because on the very day I picked them up from the cobbler, I put them on to go dancing with Leslie...and you know what happened there. The difference was, the boots survived this time, thanks to the cobbler. My ankle--the same one--took the brunt...again. Which is possibly why the second swelling took over my entire FOOT, this time.

Maybe I should take my ankle to the cobbler. Also, I bought a new bottle of ibuprofen.