Saturday, April 15, 2006


The other night was my journal dinner, which meant I had to wear a fancy dress and go traipsing through the French Quarter. Normally, I don't mind wandering through the quarter, but I DO mind doing it in high heels as I invariably ruin my shoes. This is because there is always gross standing water, holes in the cobblestones so your heel gets stuck, tricky sewer grates, drunks to step on you, etc. Boys, you don't know how good you have it.

And gentlemen, before you say something stupid like "You don't have to wear heels," let me pre-empt you: yes I do. Ok, a person just looks completely stupid in a cocktail dress and flats. Flats are casual, and even dressy flats are casual. It's just not socially appropriate to wear them with a fancy dress, so shut it. And before you can say something like "Don't follow the crowd," I have a whole bag of "shhh" for you. Welcome to adult land where we have to do things we don't particularly want to do.

This evening I thought I was ahead of the game because the hotel where our dinner was held said on its website that they had valet. Hooray for valet!

Except there was no valet. So that meant walking through the Quarter in heels.
Damn damn damn. As we're walking along these guys shout to me and my friends, "Ladies, ladies, you all look so nice." Then to me in particular our holla-er said "Hey, you, you there in the red, girl you QUALIFY."

And then I promptly stepped in a hole. Shit.

I have no idea what "qualify" means, but it's pretty much the best holla I've ever gotten. The down side was that I couldn't just classily take this in stride because I had to stop and extract my shoe from the hole and re-situate it on my foot, at which point EZ doubled back to check on me and noted that our holla-ers were "staring at [my] ass, so let's just move along now before they decided to do something else..."

Whatever, I qualify.

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