You just can't take some people anywhere
I am about to relate a story that happened to Subtle and I on Tuesday night, and I will admit to actually being a little embarrassed by it. I don't get embarrassed as a general rule. Many have tried to embarrass me, and have failed. There are a few who have made me blush (yes, Subtle, you are one), and even those instances are very rare.

A little while ago, I decided that Subtle and I should go on a "date". You know, dress up, go somewhere really nice and have a nice dinner. Of course, in the interim, a few other events came up, and it ended up being another dinner in a week of glamorous and yummy dinners. But this was a dinner with just the two of us. So, sort of romantic. Sort of nice.

I picked out a restaurant that sounded fabulous, and made a booking. When we arrived on the night, the place was suitably busy and the decor and atmosphere drew me in straightaway. We were seated and began perusing the menu. Now, unfortunately for us, we were both quite hungry and had a later booking than I would have preferred. We immediately got down to business and ordered drinks and food. We were not sure as to the time frame that our meal would take, and as often happens in busy restaurants, were worried about some significant time.

We took a look to the table to my left and found that it was being exited by a large group of people. They had clearly had a banquet type of meal, the serving plates still there, and there was still untouched food on the platters. As they left, I looked at the untouched food (some dolmade type food if you must know) and looked at Subtle and salivated. I commented, "You know, it is just sitting there and noone would know if we snuck a bit of that completely untouched food!". To this Subtle responded with, "You know I am not going to stop you, and they are just going to throw it out!".

With logic like that, I was gone. I swooped into action, and deftly removed two darling dolmades and slipped then onto our plates. They were divine. The plan was complete, and we were up one little dolmade and I had saved the world from more wasted food.

Except.

Except as I had a piece of this delightful morsel half chewed in my mouth, our waiter took that exact moment to return to our table and enquire as to whether we had any dietary requirements the chef should be aware of. How does one not look sheepish and admit to no requirements? Clearly we are the worst sort of scabs stealing food from other tables!

The meal was wonderful and our waiters all in attendance appropriately. At the end of the night when the bill was presented, I added on a "generous" tip. Subtle spied the tip amount and commented, "Are you sure the service was worth that much?". Probably not, but my guilt comes at a high cost.

Guilt and Shopping

It has been a few weeks now since my injury, and I am still hobbling around. It is improving in that I have no bruising anymore, and the swelling is isolated to the joint of concern. I have been undertaking physio which proves to be a twice-weekly reminder of the pain that still exists there. Tap dancing is becoming a distant memory, and the thought of being able to run is indeed foreign. I am assured that one day it will be ok once again. But for now, walking is challenging enough for me.

But the real crime of the whole situation is not the costly physio, ongoing pain or cankles I suffered. The pain is that I can't wear my normal shoes. No high heels. At all. Now with compromised balance, teetering in heels is a no go zone. I have been able to manage some very careful sauntering in wedges with full support around my foot. My physiotherapist said that I could start introducing some heels back into my wardrobe this week. I leapt with glee and then perused my selection. It seems that I own a couple of pairs of flat shoes, some casual trainer type shoes and all the rest are minimum two inches high. Minimum!

Begrudgingly I had to admit that I am not yet able to tolerate my usual footwear. I was then faced with a shoe dilemna. Clearly I needed some shoes, even just for work, that had "some" small heel to begin the transition back to normality. Do I spend my usual on a pair of fashionably reasonable shoes, despite the fact that I don't particularly enjoy a mid-heel height shoe? Or do I buy the cheapest I can to "do the job" until I am back to normal? I am certainly tempted by the latter option, much as it shames me to say. Unless of course, I can ignore the guilt that Subtle is trying to lay on me when I say the words, "I think I need to buy new shoes!"

"I can't stand up for falling down"

I have never pretended that I am glamorous or elegant. I think my potty mouth usually dispels any mystery there. I am capable of being quite adept on my feet when there is music playing (evidence my attempts at tap and other dancing), but I really don't possess great hand/eye coordination. I nearly always wear shoes with some sort of significant heel, which takes some level of skill to master. Many years of practice has meant that I am enviable in heels, and Subtle admittedly likes the swagger that a heel adds to one's walk.

But generally I consider myself a little clutzy. Although I have no great history of self-inflicted wounds, as in broken bones and the like, my clutziness was proven two weeks ago when I managed to fall down some stairs and sprain my ankle*. In bare feet. With no alcohol. I have been trying to find ways to dramatize the story - at the very least to make it sound less pathetic. I have been asked was I drinking heavily? No. I was also asked what sort of activity was I undertaking - wild and exotic dancing? None - just walking. I also have tried telling people that it wasn't my fault - Subtle pushed me down the stairs, but really it is more believable that I am just clumsy (and he wasn't home at the time anyway - but no matter).

The irony of the situation is that as I was walking down the stairs, I was cuddling Isabella, reassuring her that everything was ok**. The words "Mummy wouldn't let anything ever happen to you" were barely out of my mouth when I collapsed in a screaming bundle, almost squashing Isabella into the bargain. She ran for safe cover from my weeping and moaning, while I had to hop to the phone to tell Subtle I had hurt myself.

Clearly I need to not only work on my personal balance, but also train the cat to autodial for assistance. I am now hobbling, and out of tap action for a few weeks. I hope that regular programming will resume shortly! To add insult to injury, I am reduced to wearing flat open shoes to work. Oh for shame....



* My sprain is apparently "quite bad" with a full tear of a ligment, some sexy bruising from my toes to my calf and some quite stunning swelling.

**We were staying in another house with a large, sort of dumb (but well-meaning), dog at the time.