The clog post

Yet another demonstration of my notable poise and grace

I’m walking home from BART, wearing my new super-cute, totally comfortable and not terribly high clogs when all of a sudden my ankle folds out from underneath me.

Encumbered as I am (and my mother and my grandmother before me) with ironic ankles—child-bearingly thick and sturdy in appearance, weak and tottery in truth—this type of bodily betrayal is not at all unprecedented. I’ve fallen off sidewalks from Brooklyn to San Francisco, disappearing mid-sentence wherever I go.

But this time I really went big, windmilling my way all the way down, landing hard on my nose-eye-knee and skidding across the pavement for a nice little while.

“Whoa!” says a startled stranger walking beside me. “Are you…okay?!” Laughing shakily, I dust myself off and climb from prone to knees to standing, all, “No I’m fine! HAHAHAHA” in a high, not-at-all-fine voice.

Unsure, she walks ahead as I kick off my treacherous platforms and slowly start to barefoot my way home. My face and hand-heels sting like Paul Newman, and I can feel a trickle of blood start to slowly roll down my cheek. I paw around in my bag, looking for one of the endless napkins I always seem to have on hand ever since becoming a mother, but all I can find is one epic 80s-style free-work-giveaway maxipad. I hesitate for a second, but then I’m like, huh. This here mattress is basically made to absorb blood! So I slap in onto my face.

I’m about a block from home when my neighbor jack-in-the-boxes out of the darkness. Usually I don’t see anyone on my walk home, but of course today my commute is swarming with witnesses.

Neighbor: “Oh hey! How’s it going?”

Me: “Good! I mean except for how I just fell off my clogs, and now I’m barefoot in the street and I’ve got this maxipad on my face.”

Neighbor: “Ah! Well. Let’s do dinner again sometime soon, okay?” I grimace and slowly zombie my way toward home.

Relatedly: FOR SALE! One pair of black Dansko Maisie clogs, size 9, slightly scuffed.

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