Oh yeah, I went out there during a driving rain storm, and stood around under a leaky tailgate tent and wondered if this was taking “fun” a little too far. But the disaster occurred as we headed for the game.
First of all, they took away our umbrellas – they’re about as welcome in the stadium as a fifth of sour mash. Suddenly, without warning my right shoe just fell apart. I guess all that slogging through mud and murk just dissolved the glue which seemed to be the only thing holding it together.
But they are brand new and I’d never even worn them before, I whined.
I knew I wouldn’t make it up all those stairs to our seats so I told my date to go on and I would shuffle over to nearby Barnes and Nobel and see if I could buy some shoes. That was problematic since I was carrying a grand total of $15 and a tube of lipstick in my jeans pocket. (Barnes and Nobel is a bookstore, but hope floated.)
Without luck, I looked for a familiar face off whom I could borrow “shoe money.” I was desperate. If I’d had a tin cup I’d have stood at the door and rattled it for change.
I felt like a hobo and looked like one since the rain was still coming down in torrents and my make-up, so carefully applied two hours earlier, was running down my face. I was shuffling along on one foot dragging the other practically shoeless foot behind me. I probably looked like a 90 year old woman, and felt like one too.
What had begun as an exceptionally good hair day had taken a sharp turn.
As I resigned myself to walking home, the other shoe leather turned loose as well. Barefoot and stepping on painfully sharp acorns, I slogged along. walking against the sea of people heading for the game.
Every once in a while I would hear someone call “Emily you’re going the wrong way.” Like I didn’t know. By then, a crazed woman had stolen my body and I was somewhere between sobbing and giggling hysterically.
Exhausted and soaking wet, I just wanting to be home, so I called the person who never let’s me down.
“Braddock, I’m stranded on University Drive dripping wet without any shoes. Can you come get me?”
I watched the second half of the game from my recliner, snug and dry – which I should have done in the first place.
Incidentally, the manufacturer of those ill-fated shoes is “Magic Bus.” They were magic okay, and not in a good way. I don’t recommend them.
See above – my Magic Bus slippers – advertised as “comfortably sexy”-resembled dead bats at the end of the day. Don’t buy them.