Thoughts of a modern mummy

Mine happened over 5 years ago, but tormentingly, I can still
remember it as though it were yesterday.

I was feeling particularly swish, dressed as I was in a new,
tremendously soft and fluffy white angora jumper, and, my latest pride and
joy – a trendy, sassy, red pair of pointed toed, be-flowered, Office
flats.

I had been lusting after these shoes for a while and was
exceedingly proud to finally own a pair. Well, you know what they say ‘pride comes before a fall’ and I was about to learn this lesson brutally!

So I was in the cinema, dressed in my finery, about to see the latest
release with my sexy (newish) boyfriend. Of course we were sat in the
very front row, and the cinema was as full as it could possibly be.
Why do the powers that be feel it necessary to grant us huge
audiences at times like this?

To ensure uninterrupted enjoyment I thought a ‘just in case’ toilet
visit was called for. I stood up, made a quick dash for the exit, heard
a bump, and, yes, you guessed it, I was sprawled on the floor. The shiny shiny leather sole of my shoes had been my downfall.  Slippery soles and linoleum cinema floors ARE NOT a good mix.

If this in itself didn’t do the job of turning me into a beetroot and causing me to long, ostritch like for sand in which to bury my head, the accompanying united gasp and huge guffaw of laughter that followed certainly did the trick.

I was unsure how to proceed. By getting up I would reveal the identity
of the crowd’s pre-film entertainer. But I couldn’t lay there forever. No, I
had to no choice but to get up, and walk the walk of shame to the exit
with as much dignity (none) as I could muster.

Of course my white, fluffy jumper appeared almost luminous in the half
light of the cinema. Why, oh why, couldn’t I have chosen a black
roll-neck today???

In the toilets I considered my options. I could just not go back in.
But I had left my bag, and crucially, all the money I had inside. So I
could leave, but walking round the streets for an hour and a half
didn’t appeal. No, I had to face my audience.

I tried to slink back in, but of course my (never to be worn again)
white jumper drew the crowd’s attention beautifully, and I walked back
to my seat accompanied by sniggers and a round of applause.

And the motto of this sorry tale? ALWAYS sandpaper the bottoms of
expensive (i.e. Shiny, slippery bottomed, leather soled) shoes just like your Nan always told you to.

Oh, and if the companion you are with laughs, but sticks around, hang on to him.  Mine’s now my husband!

Tagged as: embarrassing, husband, new shoes

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