Shorty can't wear heels

I've never been a stiletto girl, but I used to be a platform girl. Heels of any kind tend to be problematic, as I have neither balance nor coordination.

Back in my platform days, people genuinely thought I was tall. Obviously, they did not investigate. Case in point. Julie and I were renting an apartment from Moms. ($200 for the entire flat of a house!) There were men working on the house, as there always are because Moms loves a good home improvement project. One day, one of the men charmingly says to her:

Hey, who's the redhead that lives downstairs?
Moms says, They're both redheads, which one?
The one that's like six feet tall.
Moms says, That's my daughter, and she's actually a midget.

Gotta love Moms. Anyway, after three sprained ankles, I decided that being tall wasn't nearly as important as walking upright, so I abandoned the heel. And let me tell you, I miss the four-inch platform sandals with the fish on them, I really do.

This morning, I thought I might give heels another try. I have a pair of skinny-heeled black strappy sandals I only bust out for special occasions that don't require me to stand or walk around. I felt like a dainty little flower as I pranced around my apartment, practicing. Feminine, even. On the way to the subway, I felt pretty.

Then the heel of one of my sandals got stuck in a sidewalk crack, causing me to stop short and yell, "Mother FUCKer!" while people around me slowly backed away. So much for being dainty. And, methinks, so much for thinking I can wear heels.