In the summer of 2007, I was invited to my then boyfriend’s brother's wedding. It was held at a beautifully renovated farm in Sussex County, New Jersey. Everyone was dressed to impress and I, no need to brag or state the obvious, I looked fabulous in my mom’s vintage fuschia dress complete with 70’s sequence and hot Carlos Santana gold heels designed in Vintage Art. Amaze. Moving on.
We were having the kind of time that makes weddings one of my favorite types of parties (only topped by a great house/backyard party). We were having the kind of time that ushers love because they’ll “probably sleep with a bridesmaid” time. Part of this equation is that my boyfriend, Mike being a great dancer, and I being one myself, were unstoppable. We pulled out ALL of the stops. We salsa-ed, we "Sprinklered," we jived, we attempted Dirty Dancingesque lifts before Ryan Gossling’s character in “Crazy, Stupid Love” used it to lure women into his final seduction phase. And I swear, I almost got him up. I made up the "Hop Scotch", we maneuvered the "Fisherman's Caught Fish.” What didn’t we dance to that night?
As I was jumping, jiving, and wailing, though, something got caught - slammed rather - under my 5-inch gold stiletto heel. Oops! Ow! It was another lady's foot. I slammed so hard onto her foot that I literally felt her toes crunch under not only my weight, but from the gravity of coming down from a jump. She yelped in pain like a trapped mouse in a glue trap trying to wriggle its way out! And like a mouse in a glue trap you wish you could help it, but what’s done is done.
"Oh my God," I exclaimed with concerned horror because I knew that my jump heavy stomp had to have hurt, "I am so sorry. Are you ok?" Her eyes said yes but her words said no. She was trying to be brave. She shook her head and waved her hand letting me know that she'd be fine. I didn't know what I could do to make it up to her. I’d nearly broken her toes. I thought to myself, “If someone had smashed my toes between 150 pounds and solid wood, what would I want? Hmm...
I offered the only service I could, "Listen, if you need me to carry you anywhere for the rest of the night, I'll do it. I swear." As she began laughing from my pretty ridiculous but very sincere proposition, I continued quite earnestly, straight faced, "No seriously, at the end of the night, I will carry you to your car."
Fortunately, she decided to laugh with me instead of bringing up assault charges.
Moral of the Story: Watch your step - you may not always have someone willing to carry you or forgive you.