Welcome to the neighborhood

When I heard the snap, I assumed it was a twig. When my foot wobbled, I blamed the beer I had with dinner. When I felt the heel pushing inward, I raced over to the nearest streetlight. I turned over my foot of my FAVORITE HEELS, to find this. A crack.

I did the only thing I could do.

I threw my head back and yelled "BALLS!!!!!!!".

A woman walked by in an expensive-looking trenchcoat and looked at me strangely. I showed her the shoe as she was talking on her cell phone. Her look of snobbish contempt gave way to empathy. Every girl has feared the snap of a heel. Tonight was my night.

I can tell you exactly how that happened. It got stuck between two cobbles in the sidewalk. I tugged.

I'll have you know I never broke ONE HEEL while living in Adams Morgan, and I clomped home late at night in heels often. I'm not used to this. I my second assumption was that there was trash under my heel that caught it-- maybe a Big Mac box or a Subway cup, not quaint street that is centuries old.

I have ONE BEER and come home in a klutzy tradewind to this after a long list of hilariousness in the day. Exploding coffee in the microwave. Dropping of keys in a puddle. Cramping of knees while sitting on the floor at Sushi Taro.

This is uncalled for.

Capitol Hill, I want a refund.

Nine West, you suck.

Who has a good cobbler?