Hell on Heels

I haven't worn in heels in forever. So, this morning when I slid on my skinny jeans and my crisp, white blouse (and after hubby told me I was looking skinny), I was feeling a little sexy. Well, sexy can sometimes lead to trouble. My day was in. sane.

It began around 10, when I glanced at the clock and as I was looking down, I caught a whiff of something. My shirt smelled like mildew. "Oh, ugh, this must have come from that pile." You know, the pile that my hubby left in the washing machine--for like days. I was in such a rush this morning that I hadn't even noticed the stench coming from my bright, white blouse.

And once something bothers me, it bothers me a lot. I lose my focus and there are these little thoughts dancing around in my head. You know: like that girl in marketing is looking at me funny because she thinks I stink. LOL. Well, I had a secret little stash. Betty Boop to the rescue.

See, last week, I threw on a t-shirt and in my late madness, I threw on (white-trash) Betty. Don't get mad. If you saw what it looked like on me, you'd be saying the same thing. But, when I got to work, I realized that Betty looked hoochie. And so, my wonderful hubby braved a rainy morning to buy me a non-hoochie shirt. So, Betty was still in the drawer. But, I was wearing heels and jeans.

You all know that tight-black Betty Boop+high heels=hooch, right? I just couldn't do it, but I eventually found another little stash. Yeah, I apparently have them all over. It was a long-sleeve button-up blouse that I couldn't stand sometime in December.

After taking off the mildew shirt and tossing Betty back to the curb, I was feeling better. But, just for a moment, because the rest of my day was an editing nightmare. (I'm an editor and things were falling apart in one of my magazines. More like my client was a diva and I just couldn't deal with her).

After work, I picked up the babies. And about two miles down the road, the truck stalled. And then it died. I had just run out of gas. "Are you frickin kidding me?" I called hubby, whose phone was off becasuse he was in EMT school and it was his testing day. I was so, so mad. A girl-cop pulls up and semi-helps me, but ends up leaving me there in traffic with a crying baby and a toddler.

"Screw it," I say. "We're walking." The baby yanked my gold necklace off of my neck and I just started bawling. The tears were streaming down and I knew my face was probably bright red under my dark black sunglasses. I knew I had about 10 miles ahead of me, but I was just so mad that I had to move.

About a mile down the road, a kind stranger stopped me. (Okay, he was a police officer) And he gave us a ride home. By the time I opened the door, I just wanted to fall down. My feet were covered in blisters and hubby was still nowhere to be found. I was so mad and with no one there to allow me to vent, I had one thought: THE BLOG. Oh, yes, THE BLOG IS BACK. Thank God for Hell on Heels, I guess, huh? Thanks to the evil heels, the blog is back.