It’s all fun and games until someone loses a shoe

On Saturday night Bill and I went to Woodmont Beach to celebrate their annual neighborhood party with the local band, The Rumrunners. The night was cloudy but pleasant, the humidity low, the mosquitoes elsewhere. We parked several blocks away, choosing to walk along the beach to get to the park where the festivities had been taking place throughout the day; there were tents for food, beer, glow sticks, henna tattoos. Bill and I were chatting as we walked, smiling and saying hello to passersby when, all of a sudden, I walked out of my left platform. When I looked down at my feet I was still wearing both shoes, leaving me perplexed for the second or two it took me to realize my shoe had broken and I’d walked right off the platform. I stood there in my right platform shoe and left platform-less shoe wondering “what the hell to I do now?” Bill laughed, I didn’t. The conversation then went something like this.

“We have to go home,” I said, holding my shoes, wondering if I should throw them in the nearby trashcan. “I can’t walk barefoot.”

“You can wear my shoes,” Bill offered.

“You can’t walk barefoot,” I said. He assured me he could but I was insistent he couldn’t. I thought about the walk back to the car hours later when it would be dark; I pictured glass shards and sharp rocks waiting to make contact with Bill’s bare feet. I didn’t tell him these specific thoughts, just said I didn’t want him walking without shoes when we wouldn’t be able to see the ground.

He then offered to walk back to the car, come back and pick me up so we could go home. I stood where I was, holding my shoes, contemplating my next move. I didn’t want a broken shoe ruining our night and, after a few more minutes, decided to take Bill up on his offer and slipped on his sandals

PicMonkey Collage

Before my shoe broke and after

I’m glad I left my pocketbook in the car’s trunk, I needed one arm to cradle my shoes as I walked around the green saying hello to people I knew and meeting the people they were with that I didn’t know (back at the trashcan I decided to hang on to my shoes). My “hello” and “nice to meet you” was followed with “I broke my shoe.” Nobody seemed to care, they were too busy drinking beer and having fun. Bill and I settled in to listen to the band down front, close to the music but behind the sound guy where we determined it wasn’t as loud. Once there, I forgot about my shoes and started singing and dancing along with everyone else.

PicMonkey Collage

The crowd behind Bill. The beach and Rumrunners behind us.

We had a great time singing along to songs from the our high school days, college years and present day. There was a large crowd dancing in the street right in front of the band and the energy level was high. People swayed, jumped, shimmied, twisted low, bumped into each other and sang into each other’s faces – the usual concert sights.

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It was a great night for a concert

When the final song was sang I gave Bill his sandals, put on my shoes and, hand in hand, lopsidedly walked back to the car singing “Jenny/867-5309” with him. Last night I thought I might try to superglue the top and bottom of my shoe back together but left them at Bill’s today to be thrown away. I’m glad I didn’t let a little wardrobe malfunction ruin the night, glad I didn’t even obsess about it a little after my initial reaction, glad my feet swayed and jumped and shimmied to the music.



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