I have this great pair of sandals. They’re Crocs, the Patricia style. A summer ago or so they stopped making my size, which is super sad because I love them.
Even when the traction on the bottom of the shoes is good, they’re slippery as fuck. When you’ve been wearing them for two or three years and you’re starting to wear through the bottoms, the slip is amplified.
Now that the soles are thin, I stumble on them. Yep.
I went to pick up my daughter from Girl Scouts, and I need to go down a set of narrow stairs to get to her in the basement of the church. I think to myself, “Self, you’d better be careful on those stairs! Don’t forget the leader that slipped on them last year.” And I’m all proud of myself because I remembered to be careful.
It’s raining. Did I mention it’s raining?
I get inside, I start down the stairs. On the very last step, I didn’t pick up my foot enough and the front of the sandal bends back. The shoes are slippery, the stairs are slippery, I slip.
I swear. Loudly. I’m not even sorry, and bonus, the 8- to 11-year-old girls in the next room don’t hear me. A couple moms do, though.
The nurse thinks I sprained my ankle. She did nurse-y things and wrapped it in ice, and propped it up, and watched me get nauseous, then get faint, then be fine, then stand up, then sit again, then nearly faint again. We had a little bit of a hard time getting ahold of Matt because of stupid phones, but he got the text I sent from someone else’s phone. Thankfully. Because driving probably would have been stupid.
I did almost faint. I got dizzy, then sweaty, and then my vision started to get grainy and dark and splotchy. But when they opened the outside doors and put the ice pack behind my neck and got me a Coke, I did better. Then Matt got there, and drove V and I home. My car is still there. I’ll get it tomorrow morning if I can, and if not, I won’t and will just stay home.
V was pretty worried at first, because I think one of the girls broke the news that her mom is a derp and got hurt, but she came out to sit with me and felt better when I started teasing with her. When we got home, she was able to “help” me inside (making sure if I fell in the grass someone would know if I hit my head) while Matt parked the car.
I peeled some skin off the top of my foot, although I have no idea how. I think maybe I kind of bent the stupid foot backwards and did some kind of acrobatics on my way down. There’s no bleeding or anything, just a bit of swelling and pain.Thank goodness nobody saw me actually fall!
Thank goodness nobody saw me actually fall! Simultaneously, thank goodness there were people there to help! One was a nurse, the other might have been an EMT.
And after all that, it has become perfectly crystal clear: those shoes must go. They’ll be really good for killing bugs, but my sneakers can do that, too. So maybe I’ll melt them. Or dumpster them. Or tear them into two with a vice. Or a hand saw. Or who knows, but yeah. Can’t wear them anymore.