Just buy the goddamn shoes. In fact, buy two pair since they fit. If your feet are as wonderfully uneven as mine are or you just hate shoe shopping for whatever reason (yes, I know a female who hats shoe shopping – will wonders never cease?!) then just buy the shoes that feel good. Price just can’t be a factor. Buy shoes that fit and fit well. You will not regret it. Be nice to your feet, you use them every day!
I’ve been meaning to write this for some time, to go with a couple other vignettes I’ve had the presence of mind to record – for myself mostly. Nomes reminded me of it earlier in the month when I suggested to her that we might check out the roller derby thing. Not that I can skate, of course, but I’m willing to try just about anything once. Hehe. Anyway, we also talked about one night in Nanai-hole that involved my exes’ car and she said something about my raw aggression. (It’s a rare thing to see me angry, but when I do apparently it can be scary.) It’s funny how certain episodes stick out in your mind – and in others.
Anyway, it was December. I only know this because I wrote about it in the diary I stopped writing in 5 years ago. We’d had a ‘night in’ drinking and just being in the same space. The girls, Miss E, Nomes, Tabs, and I (there may have been at least two others, but I do not recall) sat in the kitchen drinking ‘girly’ drinks (aka, not beer) while the boys, RJ, the other Ryan, Glyn, Ian, my then-boyfriend RB and DD either watched movies or, more likely, played a racing game. It might even have been a version of Gran Turismo. Anyway, I was the only one that was really sober – an licensed – so when it came time for Nomes and RB and I to go home I was handed the keys to RB’s car.
A word about this POS car before we go any further: I am still convinced that car had its gearbox installed upside-down or something equally dumb, because no one could drive that thing easily. That’s no one, not even Ian who could essentially drive anything if it had wheels. And I, who was not totally familiar with standard transmissions at the time had an especially “fun” time with it. So I wasn’t exactly pleased that RB was too drunk to drive – not that I’d have been pleased about him driving anyway since he didn’t have his licence in the first place, but there you are. My car was at my mothers for the winter since I had had no intention of driving in the snow that year – or letting RB drive it for that matter.
Anyway, we say our goodbyes and are out the door and into the parking lot. Both Ryans are on the balcony, one of them – in that drunk ‘I’m invincible’ stage – is hanging off the balcony railing like some kind of square-jawed monkey. I tell him to get his ass back inside, which is why I do not realize at first that it’s RB’s car that’s pulling out of its space.
I stop in my tracks as the little grey hatchback backs out of the spot, and, rather jerkily, slams its bumper into the fender of RJ’s beater. Someone behind me swears. I just stare for a few seconds as the guy in the driver’s seat changes gears – I can hear the familiar grind the car makes as he does so and he starts to drive it up the driveway. The car resists, bunny-hopping toward me and I start to walk beside it, my hands balled into fists. The driver has his window partway down and I yell at him.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” but he ignores me. I can see his hands, knuckles white, clench on the steering wheel. I cannot explain how much the situation infuriated me but I think it was pretty obvious to him when I grabbed the door handle and yanked the door open. “Get the fuck out of the car asshole!” I remember shouting at him and I reached inside for him. I don’t know what the hell I was thinking (yes I do, I was going to grab him by the neck and haul him out of that car and smash his face in – I saw it happening even as it seemed I was moving in slow motion) and this was not the smartest move I could have made, but I was furious. Absolutely fucking furious. I’m sure he thought I rabid or something and I hate to think what I looked like reaching in like that. Not my normal sweet self that’s for damn sure. He didn’t have his seat belt on, which was good for him, because he bolted, escaping my grab. The guy in the passenger seat wasn’t very far behind. I’ve never seen someone scramble so fast to get away from me and I was very tempted to run after him, but the dangling Ryan had already leaped from the second-story balcony and vanished after the fleeing forms. The car started rolling backwards so I leaned in to pull the e-brake. That was when I realized there was a third guy, and he’d been stupid enough to put his seat belt on. The ones in the back seat had a tendency to stick and he was fighting to get it off.
“You better hope you run faster than I do,” I told him (or something to that affect, the diary’s not all that legible) – and when I said those words I meant every one – as he finally got it loose and scrambled out the door. I’m pretty sure he face-planted on the other side of the hedge, but I didn’t follow, I’d cooled off enough by then to realize I wasn’t in a position to beat the snot out of them like I felt the urge to. Besides, they still had the other Ryan to deal with and he could be much scarier than I was. That thought still kinda makes me smile.
By then, everyone was outside asking how we were. RB, still up near the door just stood there, shock on his face. I think it was Ian that snapped him out of it, wrapping one arm around his shoulders and shaking him a bit. I, understandably, was shaking with adrenaline. RJ was the one that came down and wrapped his arms around me and I remember crying and trying not to and giving myself a bad case of the hiccups. I do not remember the drive home, only that it was done in silence.
I put my jeans on to go to the store to buy potatoes. As I was walking to the store I thought my jeans felt kind of funny around one knee. I dismissed it because I was wearing the cargo pair that has pockets at the knee. It wasn’t until I got home that I realized that when I picked this pair up off the top of the hamper, I hadn’t removed yesterday’s panties and that was why the knee felt funny. I think there is a lesson in this, because I might have been on my way to school, and would have been forced to go to the ladies toilet and fish the panties out in the stall and shove them into the bottom of my backpack and hope they didn’t catch a ride out again with one of my books. Lesson: if you’re recycling yesterday’s jeans for whatever reason: check first!!