Montreal - A Tale of High Heels vs. Cobblestones vs. Mum body
In my mind, I’ve been mulling over the events that transpired this weekend past. I’m home from work today, with a banged up knee and a throat infection, lingering reminders of my shame.
I drove for an eternity (twelve hours) to get to Montreal. It snowed sideways at one point. Upon arrival, my friends went for a drink and I indulged in a wee catnap. We reconvened, went for a bite at a posh Italian joint, and popped back to the hotel for a drink and to get dolled up.
Let me tell you about the shoe situation.
The ones I brought from home to wear out were laughed at for their “trashiness”. I’m not even kidding. For some reason I let that irk me, and with my tail between my legs, I put them back in my bag. My friend offered to let me wear a pair of hers. Huzzah! We gleefully tittered at our shared shoe size.
The ones I borrowed from her went really nicely with my knee-length black dress. They were tan coloured, strappy leather heels, with adorable ankle straps, a little platform in the front and a five inch wedge in the back. Between the near titty-spillage from the top and the legs those sexy shoes gave me, when we left the hotel, I was *so* ready to shake my stuff all over a dance floor.
We stepped out the front door.
Stairs. Ooh, G, can I hold your arm?
I cling to his arm and gently walk down the steps. Success.
We take it slow on the sidewalk because some of us have stopped to smoke. As I’m standing, I shuffle around on my feet, in a rudimentary series of practice wiggles. Everything’s jiggling as it should, but, I’m nervous about the shoes. I don’t feel so steady. I say as much to the posse and I’m quickly, loudly told that *we’re already outside - let’s just go!* - Although I can still see the hotel - they finish their smokes and we hail a cab. (This is one of the moments I wish I could get back to)
I think a lot of people do this, but, as a person with no “thigh gap”, I sometimes utilize either stockings or bicycle shorts to combat the dreaded chub rub. This night in particular, I didn’t have time to get stockings at the store, so, I went with bicycle shorts (that effectively doubled as panties - ugh).
SO - night has fallen - we get out of the taxi. We are near the water, and across the boardwalks it looks as though a palace is lit up colourfully. The music is pumping. The air reeks of excitement and possibility. I’m jazzed to be meeting up with my friend from afar at that place.
Rapidly, I noticed that the cobblestones would be an issue. I wobbled forward cautiously for a moment and then begged for an arm from one of my three friends. I nearly fell and laughed so hard that I tinkled a tiny bit in my shorts. I’m faced with a decision that would’t have been a big deal if I was thinking clearly… I should have gone back to the hotel to change shorts and shoes… To my ever lasting shame, I CHUCKED MY SHORTS INTO THE GARBAGE and freshened up before heading back into the night. On the walk to the palace, I teetered a few times, but stopped short of falling.
The line-up at the palace was ridiculous, we decided to leave and go to a different dance party, and sadly I missed seeing my friend from afar. We went to three or four bars and pubs. I couldn’t tell you where we were in the scheme of things when it finally happened, but, i went down like a tonne of bricks. I’m not a tiny woman. I clock in at maybe 190. My legs folded and I tried to keep my knees together for non-flashing purposes and in the process my dress rode all the way up to my waist as I fell. I laid there for a split second, doing a bizarre reverse plank sort of pose, before adjusting myself and accepting a hand up. From that point on, I clutched for dear life on to whoever would have me. They shuffled me from friend to friend. I kept falling down. Sometimes I fell twice in three or four strides. It got worse when we started really laughing about it. By then, a few pints had been had. I can’t even say it - if you’ve had a baby at any point, you may know what I’m getting at here. My knee and the road rash on the tops of my feet and ankles was getting progressively worse.
The absolute precipice of my shame was when we were walking up a bit of an incline - I fell, laughing, crying, dying of humiliation, legs splayed, not able to stop myself from falling or from peeing, bleeding, tits falling out, with people walking by on both sides. I only allowed myself to look at their feet. My friends were hollering from above, and they pulled me up straight away. MAMA, DID YOU NOTICE THE POLICE SPOTLIGHT? I hadn’t. Apparently, the squad car pulled up beside us and shone it right at my pink parts, and drove off when my friend made gestures of difficulty walking and pointed to the shoes. The shoes that I had mangled via vis road rash, pee, and more road rash. The shoes of my shame. I wouldn’t be shocked if you told me that I’d fallen forty to fifty times in total.
Finally, I did make it back to the hotel intact aside from my lower extremities, and my dignity.
Woke up to blood on the sheets and a pissed off friend. She wouldn’t accept money for the shoes. She wouldn’t tell me where she got them so that I could replace them. I tried to surmise how much to give her, but she refused my money. As my punishment, they made me hobble along behind them as we walked all over the place downtown. It hurt so much. I was on the brink of tears a few times. Eventually, I sulked a little about how it seemed like they didn’t give a shit about my physical pain (there was then and as I type this there is an oozing open wound on my swollen knee), and I insisted that we take the subway.
Trip Positives: We had some really great meals, I loved the city, I hung with some beloved old friends, got to know a new friend on the drive, and met interesting characters (picked up two hitchhikers from France and brought them 800km across country).
Trip Negatives: Had to pull over to nap twice on the return trip. Sleep deprived. Also, my friends refused to let me go to the nudie bar, which was one of my main objectives for the trip. There was zero debauchery unless you count the numerous times that I flashed my box and peed myself in front of three hundred people. I must have shared a drink or something because I’ve managed to pick up a throat infection.
So yeah, I’ll be back, obviously.