Wobbler

I don’t know if it’s just me, but usually, before something bad happens, I sort of get this feeling in my gut, but then I go ‘naah’, and carry thus setting myself up for the bouts of red hot burning rage when something finally go wrong. At that point, when the steaming pile of poop (yes yes, that was an obvious attempt to refrain from cursing) hits the fan, , my first instinct is to blame everything else involved in the ‘accident’ and never one quivering finger at myself.

How dare the stupid cup fall off the counter! Thankless table just near broke my knee!!! I can’t believe how hard that damn door just hit me! Things like that. 🙂

Thus begins the tale of one such situation that I would have preferred to forget, and  better still take to my grave . More so given the possibility that one of you could have been present as I was force fed humongous piles of humble pie.

However, because I have poor unwavering judgement, here I am exposing myself to more ridicule.

So one morning, I was up early, getting ready for school when I thought for a change, I might put on some high heeled boots.  The heels were nice and thick, albeit a bit wonky but what more could you expect from mitumba (Second-Hand) ? It’s sort of part of the package. usually, such goods wait to unleash their many hidden faults during use, at the most inconvenient of times.

So anyway, I decided to wear the heels to school. They weren’t that high, and while yes, my small toe was a little uncomfortable and the left shoe was playing a game of “twist the ankle” it wasn’t too bad. I could hack it… or could I?

So blah blah blah, fast forward to the matatu unceremoniously dropping disgruntled passengers off at Agip, Then the traffic on Haile Selassie holding up the middle finger to all the people  getting late. 

I decided to alight and walk to my stage. At this point, both my feet were already complaining. They kept sliding forward in the boots and my big toes were threatening to detach from my body and leave me to my foreseeable self-Imposed suffering.  The moment my feet were on solid ground again I knew I had made a HUGE mistake.

So now that I had come all this way from home AND put all that effort into getting ready for school AND assured my parents that NO the shoes were perfectly reasonable and comfortable to dispel their well-founded doubts about my choice of foot wear, there was no way I was going back home.

I trudged on toward my stage, or shall I say, wobbled. That wonky left heel was getting worse. Every step was murder and a renewed attempt by my left shoe to introduce my face with the ground. I swore so heatedly under my breath that by the time I arrived at the stage, a lot of people were giving me a wide berth and avoiding eye contact with the crazy wobbling lady who might kick up those trembling heels and take out an eye.
So I climbed my matatu, filthy and in terrible condition and an hour later, I was at my school gate trying to disguise my sniffles as the flu. They were NOT. Again I Climbed down, but this time things were thick. The situation was monumentally worse than in town. That I was even standing was miraculous.

I wobbled on, legs trembling so badly that I wasn’t trying to hide it anymore. I just wanted to get to the washroom so I could lock myself in one of the stalls, take off the boots and weep for my mangled feet.
Guys were staring. Pretty blatantly. But then again, I was wobbling pretty blatantly myself. Ditto. As I finally got to the ‘ladies’ a female lecturer, came up to me looking very concerned.
“Excuse me young lady how are you?”
“Oh morning miss X I’m fine thanks.” beads of sweat threatened to roll into my eyes and blind me so that I could slip on a stray box of tissue and rearranged my feature of the stall doors to conclude this whole fiasco.
“Are you sure? I mean I saw you walking all way from the gate just now and you looked…”
“I’m fine ha ha…” OMG! she was making a scene! The other girls were looking at me, not so obviously that it would be weird, but I could feel those side glances.” I’m really pressed (my toes damn it!) I need to go…”
“It’s just you were wobbling…”
“The shoes. It’s the shoes. One of the heels is bad. So ok let me g…” I almost shouted.
“I have a spare pair of sandals I can lend you young lady. I mean it’s just so dangerous and embarrassing to wear heels when you don’t know how to walk in them and…”
I cut her short, thanked here profusely for her concern and proceeded to disappear into a stall where I liberated my feet. I finally realized how easily comfort and normality are taken for granted.

Long story short,

Yes,  I cried in the toilet for a good hour,

yes,  I sat in there for the whole morning contemplating how I was going to get home,

No, I did not attend any of my classes that day and

No, my feet were not okay that day or for the most of the rest of that week.
I learned my lesson guys. Listen to your gut and be accountable for your mistakes…
Yeah uhm, I blame the spiteful shoes and that con that sold them to me in the first place. Totally his fault. Lol. Kidding…not kidding. Sorry.