The wedges of DOOM.

As a Mormon, I try to hear the Holy Ghost speaking to my soul. To let me know what God's will is for me and to help me make decisions and choose the right. I try to live so that I can feel the impressions of the Holy Ghost touching my heart at all times. But with some things in life, some inconsequential things, I can just rely on my own mind. Like whether to have pizza or pasta for tea. Or whether to wear pumps or boots. These kinds of things don't matter much. 


So as a Mormon, I believe that all things happen for a reason. I'm not sure if I would call this belief fate, or something else. Either way, today, fate (or whatever I decide to call it) stepped in. 


There are some beautiful shoes that I've had my eye on for a while now. Black, suede, wedges, peep toe, bargin. Beautiful. I saw them while I saw shopping last week. They didn't have my size. I tried to squeeze my feet into the next size down, but it looked ridiculous. Seriously. My toes peeped out of the peep toe a little bit too much. They didn't even have my size in the stock room. So I shed a little mental tear and moved on. 


A few days later I was in the shopping centre looking for something with Mr.K, so I went for a quick look to see if they had my size in yet. No luck, no joy, no nothing. 


So imagine my ecstasy when I go into the shop today and they have my size. They have the beautiful shoes in my glorious size. So I whip off my right shoe & sock and very enthusiastically shove my foot in. It fits perfectly and I mentally decide that the shoes are as good as mine. So balancing on one foot I take off my other shoe and start to pull off my other sock. Remember that I'm balancing on one foot. One foot that is inside quite a high wedge. I pull my sock a little more ruthlessly and wobble a little. I try to counterbalance myself and reach out for the shelf of shoes next me. Actually, I reach very dramatically and completely roll over on my ankle. As I fall I little helpless yelp escapes me lips and pull off at least three pairs of shoes from the shelf. I land, whimpering on the floor over my poor, hurting ankle. People rush around me and ask if I'm ok. I say that I'm fine, but I'm not. It hurts and I'm embarrassed. 


After a few friendly offers to help me up, which my bruised pride makes me decline, I haul myself up and onto a chair. I call Mr.K, who's in a different shop to ask him to come and get me. The sound of his caring voice makes me feel even more sorry for myself and brings a few tears to me eyes, so I hunch over my knees and slowly put my socks back on whilst I try to hide and wipe my tears. My ankle really hurts. I've never broken any bones or been in hospital before, so I pray that my bones are still as they should be. I try to hold it together and wait for Mr.K.


He arrives a few minutes later, with his sister Emily and worry in his eyes. As soon as I see him I just start to cry. Like a little girl. But silently. I don't like to publicly show any negative emotion, so this is embarrassing for me. Very embarrassing. I cry silently, but my tears are obvious. I'm aware of other shoppers looking at me and this makes me desperately want to stop crying, but actually it just makes me cry more. 


A few hours and some more tears later and I'm at home, on the sofa with my leg raised, a wheat bag, some chocolate and Emily, who makes me feel better because she makes my laugh. My ankle still hurts. Without sounding like a Drama Queen, it's probably the most physical pain that I've ever felt. But my bruised pride has healed now though.


Incase you were wondering, I didn't buy the shoes.