God has a sense of humor, and Jacob hates high heels.
Touch my shoes and I'll kill you.
Wear those again and they might kill you.
How are we supposed to dance?
Hey, we'll get by. I'd rather dance with you and get a crick in my neck than not be able to dance at all, like right now. We'll get you some new shoes you won't break your legs in.
Alright. Alright. Take them all.
And with that exchange he cleaned the closet out of every pair of high heels Bridget owns. And threw them out. Literally. I am one of the clumsiest people you will ever meet. If there's a door? I'll slam my hand in it. If there's picture on the wall, it will swing when I walk by and bump it. If there's something heavy in my hands? I'll drop it on my toes. Wearing high heels? No problem! I always have the arm of some large man to hang off of, and I've been slipping and tripping through life for decades on that theory.
So the issues I have had with navigating the front slightly bumpy, crumbly concrete steps of the church on rainy mornings when they are slick with water and I have on my cute high heels?
Legendary, my friends, legendary. Jacob is never present when I am exiting that building.
The elderly members take it slow. They hold on to each other. They wear sensible shoes. Me? I skip down them looking over my shoulder for Henry, talking to five people at once, and never paying attention to where my feet are in my cute little four-inch heels.
Down she goes. Oh dammit.
Only this time she didn't get up. Oh, joy, it's a crowd.
I finally got up, I left my pride on the pavement though, since I didn't need that anymore. Jacob was coming down the stairs so fast I thought he'd fall too but as usual his look read a mix of Oh shit oh shit is she okay? and I didn't catch her. I wasn't there to keep her safe.
Before I was fully vertical again and someone passed me my purse my ankle was starting to swell. Jacob's look changed to Oh it's time to get my princess to the hospital.
Thankfully the charming masochist in me kicked in and I was able to use his mountain climber self-rescue sensibilities to point out it was a mild sprain, look, range of motion! And let's consider some ibuprofen and ice and then wrapping it and we'll see how it looks in the morning because I am not spending Canada Day nor am I spending August's last full day here in the ER.
I can talk Jake into anything. I bet if I ever have a pitchfork sticking out of my back (oh, the threat's been made to this heathen girl but not by Jacob) I could convince him it was a flesh wound and I needed only a bandaid. He will believe anything I say. Even the part where I said I was still crying because I felt stupid (when really it was because it hurt like hell).
The good news is it is purple and black and my ankle is a puffy circle this morning but I can walk on it and it doesn't hurt so much as long as I go slow.
There's a metaphor for life if I ever saw one.
And enough with the jokes, God. I totally knew you were in cahoots with my husband to get rid of those shoes. I only hid a few pairs. I swear.
