I swear, I need to stop wearing cheap shoes. And I'm not being snobby when I say cheap, I mean cheap like, $6.99-unboxed-held-together-with-a-ziptie-on-sale-at-the-juniors'-store cheap. I was trying to be 'Girl U So Cute' in a casual dining restaurant in my fashion frugal teal high heels.
Walking from my booth to the bathroom wasn't a problem; I even got a little swagger in my step on the way back to the table.
So when I stood up to leave and grabbed my to-go container and that's when I felt the ball of my foot slide across the wood laminate flooring like I honoring MJ with a Moonwalk. My heel skid to the left, to the left. And, I almost fell. Thank Jesus from Nazereth that I didn't bust my butt in the middle of a crowed restaurant on a weekend night!
Let this be a lesson to you ladies given to you at my expense.
"ONE MO' 'GIN...HEAD DOWN!!"
Don't act like you don't know the rest.
I had the luxury and excitement of attending a Stripperobics class and do hoodrat stuff with my friends this past weekend. Our instructor was awesome and I was ready to do some damage on the pole. What I ended up with, however, was some damage on the pole.
I was so pumped about this class. I was ready to be upside down just like the pole professionals I saw in my favorite Ludacris video, "P*ssy Poppin'." I thought I was going to swing, dive, and roll around like the sexy, in-control woman I thought I could be. Oh, no ma'am.
Everything was going as planned until the first 20 minutes of the class. I hurt my neck trying to arch my back like a Halloween cat while spinning counter-clockwise. Next came my knees from humping the ground, then my arms from trying to climb, and last, my shoulders and ribcage from trying to do my beloved move: an upside down split while sliding down the pole into a sultry saunter on the ground. Not I; I fell on my butt, on my side, and again on my hip. If I had been about 87-years-old, I would have been done for.
Oh, but wait! There's more!
I had every intention of taking care of some errands the next morning, but when I sat up in bed, my body said, "Girl, bye!" and I instantly knew I was wrong. It was so bad my mother had to help me take off my shirt so I could take a shower, and even then, in the midst of her helpful spirit, I was giving her FEVER! All day, I walked in choppy steps around the house like I was an 87-year-old lady.
That's why this post is so late, I'm just now getting feeling back in my arms and hands and the pain in my ribcage and shoulders has finally dulled. And to think, I was an advocate of wearing my heels; such a shame.
That's what I get for trying to be like them girls in the videos!
Though the leggings trend is on its way out, my vision still being wronged on a daily basis. There are so many fashion offenders and victims that fall by the wayside as a result of this fad that I often ask the Lord, "Why has thou forsaken me!?! What did I do wrong to deserve having this nylon-spandex atrocity dance before my eyes?"
Don't get me wrong. There are times that leggings as spandex pants look good. Real good. Megan Good, good. But the realities of life don't allow me to enjoy a view like that. I'm stuck watching a Mary Gordon instead of a Megan Good; a Holly Bear instead of Halle Berry. Why?
Why, why, why?
I saw a woman earlier today with a cute sweater and boots on, paired with those damned leggings. It would have been acceptable had she not been shaped like an apple with two straws sticking out of the bottom. And, that wasn't even the worst part. What is even more disturbing than leggings on the wrong body type are leggings that the wearer isn't aware that the "pants" are more like "pantyhose" and that I can see straight through said leggings down to the granny panties, Spanx, or God forbid, butt pads, beneath them.
I am so TIRED of seeing guys in striped polo shirts. Do the make any other style other than horizontal stripes? You know what: it doesn't matter because I detest them all. I don't understand the mass appeal of these garments. It's like bees to honey, mice to cheese, flies to a picnic. Is there some unwritten clause in the Black Guy Code of Ethics under the Grooming tab that instructs all uninformed Black guys over the age of 14 that they, too, should be wearing a horizontally striped polo shirt at EVERY outing? And, don't start with that "it's universal and comfortable" mess! I'm not buying it! These tops are everywhere: the pulpit, the job interview, the club, the grocery store, even private school. Somebody please break this generational curse that began in 1996! I can't even look at this pic. I want to slap that smug, "it's-so-no-fuss-and-stylish" smirk right off his face. Ugh.
