Seriously? I haven’t posted in weeks. I cannot believe I have nothing new to show! I’m sewing like a madwoman and in the process of making a bazillion things. The problem is, they’re either a) something you’ve already seen in process OR b) something I can’t show you until May because they’re for a wedding (hey Heather!).
So, instead of feeling bad about my lack of blogging, (Because really? How many people read my blog and of those, how many NEED to read it? Yeah, zero.) I’m going to tell you a funny story.
Over the weekend I went to Carolina Beach for a bachelorette party. Oh! FYI, beach weekend for bachelorette=awesome, even better when someone else plans it (Hey Ashley!). The fail doesn’t come from the weekend per se, because IT was awesome. The fail comes from my inability to walk. We were downtown and it was raining and I was wearing five and half inch (no, I’m not exaggerating-but they do have a platform) heels. Aaaand I learned something.
It doesn’t matter that I can can rock a pair of sky-high heels like none other. It doesn’t matter that I love them and they’re supercute. It doesn’t matter that (in heels) I can go up and down stairs with a book on my head or that I can dance backwards or run across an intersection while the light is changing and NOT wipe out. When going to a bar (which I hardly ever do) I need to wear lower heels and pay attention where I’m walking. BECAUSE here’s what happens if you don’t.
You may forget (even though you’re sober) that you’re walking on uneven bricks. This may or may not cause you to fall off of a curb. Literally. Like into the street. The fall may attract the attention of cops who will think you are drunk. Again, you’re sober. You’ll then attempt to calmly explain to said cops that you “are on the phone with your husband and didn’t see the curb.” Yeah, good luck with that. People will laugh and you will feel like an idiot.
Fast forward to today. We had cups that said “It’s not a party until…” and we filled in the blank with a Sharpie. My cup said something along the lines of it’s not a party until Joanna’s mouth runs away with her (but not quite so nicely). HOWEVER, three days post falling off of the curb in Wilmington I can officially say that my cup SHOULD have read: “It’s not a party until Joanna’s legs look like someone put her in a burlap sack and beat it with a stick.”
Really? I have six and eight inch long bruises on my shins, knees and one really perfect one on my butt. I can’t find my camera (I know it is in the house somewhere) and I tried taking a picture with my phone, but it doesn’t do the green/yellow/purple/magenta justice.
P.S. That toe you thought you broke? Not broken. Just thoroughly bruised with a cracked nail.