A recent exchange in a shoe store over the weekend between my boyfriend and I while trying on a pair of boots:
Me: *walk-walk-walk* Ooh these are cute! What do you think, honey? *turn-walk-walk-walk*
Honey: Those are cute.
Me: *walk-walk-walk* Do they look weird at all? *turn-walk-walk-walk*
Me: *walk-walk-walk* Are you sure? They’re not too pointed? *turn-walk-walk-walk*
Honey: Not at all, I’m serious, I think they’re very cute. They suit you.
Me: *walk-walk-walk* They’re comfortable, and they’re really sturdy t–oops! *flail-twist-flail*
Honey: *almost crying with laughter*
And yes, I still bought them. They really are sturdy, I just had rather unfortunate timing in a bad turn that caught the heel. These kinds of things seem to happen to me. A lot. Things like being attacked by inanimate toys on hang tags in a store.
Fortunately I’ve stopped getting embarrassed over them, and found the humor in accepting my lack of grace for what it is.