I’m not prone to swearing. In fact it takes a lot to get me up there with the best of them. Notice I’m even unable to say the ‘B’ word as it should be said, but rather a variation of it. However, I suspect another couple of days of this pain will result in me screaming it from the rooftops.
“You don’t like being ‘off games’ do you S?” my companion from the scene of the crime remarked over the telephone. I reached down towards my left foot, adjusting the pink sock ice pack so delicately placed for maximum coverage. I wondered where I could get an ice pick to make smaller pieces – heart shaped ice cubes are really not the best.
“No T, I do not” I replied.
The night had started innocently but stridently enough. Schmancy party-heeled clad, T App’d a black cab. We hopped in as he and Dave began the banter that saw the meter still ‘off’ until half way there. T pointed it out to him, We watched as he reached up to click the switch, still laughing: “Sorry about that guv” he said, “I just got lost in the moment!”
Once there, familiar tunes courtesy of Chris from The Wag Club were the catalyst for dancing. Ah, dancing. Such a pleasurable activity especially when there’s twirling and swirling around by a dance partner with a firm grip.
“I think your phalange ring just fell off” T remarked mid spin. For the second time that evening we bent over to search a now disco lit floor. There it was! Triumphant I picked it up, placed it back on my fourth digit upper finger as T spun me out again and reeled me back in. I giggled with pure joy.
Suddenly I felt a piercing pain down below. Grimacing I shouted above the music “I THINK SOMEONE JUST TROD ON MY FOOT T!”
“Let’s have a look” he replied.
A golf ball sized lump met my horrified gaze. “We need to get some ice on that straight away!” T said. I vaguely remember glancing over to clock the culprit: Drunkenly green-dress clad with stilettos of at least 5″.
The following day, T brought me figs and plums as I waited my turn to see the doc post x-ray in A & E. Called in, I looked at the picture on her screen “Well, it appears there’s nothing broken” she said, smiling, “Just rather severe bruising. How did it happen?” I told her, expressing incredulity that someone could be so clumsy.
Back in the waiting room T got the results. “Hmmm, you probably shouldn’t do too much walking about on it S” he suggested.
I agreed. “Funny, the doc asked if I thought she’d done it on purpose – can you imagine!! Her stilli’s were much higher than mine after all.”
One thought on “Stiletto Biatch”
Hi Sarah! I loved your blog about your stiletto heel! Sorry your foot was badly bruised. I Hope the bruising has gone down now and that you are keeping well. I used to dance in Louis heels in the 1960’s….ah those were the days! Lots of love A. Viv xx
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