I used to call myself a clutz, but I’m starting to think that this was just an excuse for embarrassing myself on an all too regular basis. I don’t know why I kept my hands in my pockets as I fell to the ground last week (not even kidding), I don’t know why I feel the need to salute rather than wave? Whatever the explanation, I embarrass myself. Here’s just one of the times I wanted the ground to swallow me whole.
I was shopping around for prom shoes a short while ago. Now, the shoe section of this particular chain store I was in was actually pretty empty at the time I was there. Some may think this is fortunate for the everyday shopper, and that may be true – if you aren’t about to embarrass yourself in front of the only two people present.
I had picked up two shoes that looked promising, and asked the nearest assistant if it would be possible to get them in my size. I then went back and sat on a pouf, you know the sort – the little squares you sit on to try shoes on. I’d quite like to know why every shoe shop I’ve ever been to has the same taste in furniture, actually…
So there I was, sitting on my stereotypical shoe shop square, when the assistant I had just seconds before asked for two shoes came out with two boxes, and the question “two heels?”. Slightly astonished at the speed with which these shoes had come (but not any less doubtful that they must be my prom shoes), I indicated that I would like to be the recipient of said stilettos.
Two boxes now beside me, I took the first box into my lap and opened it. I was faced with a surprise that made me cringe to my core; black boots. Black, heeled boots. The only words I could manage were “no… no, no” – these weren’t my heels, they were meant for the woman sitting opposite me!
My face probably revealing a feeling of complete dismay, i hurriedly put the lid back on the box, got up and handed it back to the assistant. I gave a quick apologetic look to the lady sat metres away from me, and retreated back to my pouf. There may have been a rack of shoes between us, but rest assured, those metal racks could easily have melted under the heat coming from my cheeks.
I then had to sit and wait for her to be served before I was handed the heels I was meant to be trying on. All the while, it’s hard to explain exactly how I was feeling, but let’s just say… if the floor was lava, I wouldn’t be jumping on to the nearest available piece of furniture.
Eventually, the woman left and I didn’t buy either of the shoes. I was suitably traumatised by the whole experience; I may have been trying on heels, but I really should’ve put a sock in it.