FLATS CAN'T HURT ME

*Originally posted on Naseeb and based on a true story (this is gonna make ES laugh!)

Ladies, there's a danger lurking in your closets: the (potentially killer) combination of cuffed trouser and those pointy toed heels that were all the rage a couple of falls ago. Take it from someone who has the battle scars---well the invisible scars, anyway: wear these articles of clothing together at your own risk.

In the fall of 2003, I was a naive but optimistic fashionista. I'd worn all varieties of shoes over the years, on the toughest obstacle course for feet anywhere: the sidewalks of Manhattan. During my years at NYU, I'd run from class to class in platforms and heels, clogs and Birkenstocks, flipflops and flats and slides, without so much as a twist of the ankle. I was a pro when it came to shoes. Oh, don't get me wrong. I experienced my fair share of falls. But it was NEVER as the result of my shoe-pants combination.

Yes, I was wide-eyed and innocent of the dangers of shoes in Fall 03, when pointy-toed heels made their entry into the fashion limelight. Like women all across the country, I stocked up on them. At the same time, the Limited came out with a line of cuffed trousers, that were perfect for work. I thought that the combination was a smash hit! Little did I know that the only smash in the picture was me nearly smashing my face each time I wore the two together.

It's still very difficult for me to discuss this, but the first time I fell, I was walking down the hall at work. Luckily, it was lunch time and not many people were around. I had just turned a corner after chatting with my friend. She told me that the next thing she heard was a crash and muffled laughter (okay, the laughter was my own!). You see, the pointy toe of my right shoe had somehow gotten caught in my left cuff and sent me flying. It was like slow motion for me. I was airborne, nearly parallel to the ground that was fast approaching me in a lover's death embrace. And I couldn't stop myself from falling. I fell and, surprisingly, I didn't make a sound, not a single yelp, until I started giggling. After reassuring everyone that, no, they didn't need to call an ambulance, I walked away, trying to be more mindful of where my shoes were in relation to those goddamn cuffs. And trying not to laugh.

The second time my cuffs and heels sabotaged a perfectly good day was a few weeks later, after work. I was wearing another pair of cuffed trousers from Limited and a matching pair of pointy toed heels. It was after work and I was walking through my gym's parking lot, with my work bag over my shoulder and a giant bookbag on my back. It was a lovely day; it almost felt like spring and the Hudson River looked less polluted than usual in the sunlight. The parking lot seemed to be brimming with people as I ambled towards the gym and, suddenly, oh no, I'm falling. Once again, it was slow motion. Once again, I couldn't stop myself. My heart dropped as I crashed towards the ground. This time, there was the added comedy touch of my bookbag, flying over my head.

Miracles of miracles, no one saw me. I got up and even before I could examine my pants for tears or my burning knees for bruises and gashes, I whipped out my cell phone and dialed my brother in a panic. I wanted to look busy; I wanted to give the impression that the fall was nothing, that I was a suave, working woman who fell and got up all the time, dahling (which is actually more true than I'd like to admit). I was half laughing and half whining to my brother. "Let me get this straight," he asked, cracking up. "You called me because you fell flat on your face and your bookbag went flying over your head?! Hahahahahah!"

I gave the cuffed pants and pointy toed heels more chances than I should have (hell, I had enough pairs of both for the combinations to be nearly endless) and I suffered the consequences. I can't count the number of times I nearly fell down stairs in subway and path stations when my heel would land directly into the cuff of the opposite pant leg. Allah knows those were opportunities for especially "smashing" accidents. Needless to say, I have since become an especially clingy bannister gripper.

The last straw for me involved me trying to sneak out of a meeting inconspicuously. I don't want to talk about it.

I've since trashed the pants because of the safety hazard those damned cuffs pose. I've kept the pointy toed heels deep in the dark recesses of my closet, where they can't hurt anyone. I thank the fashion gods for flats being all the rage these days.

Flats can't hurt me.