Miss Labelled under…

For WHATIDO heals are a necessity. Looming is a fine art, and I am bad at it. I have never been one of the tallest women. In fact I am ‘down right petite’, or that is how MR describes me.

“I love them.” He said as I displayed my nice blue suede five inch towers at breakfast this morning. He knows just the right things to say, and actually means it too (Entering the following into Love list).

4)Last time we went shopping he stole into the changing rooms and tried on a pair for himself. He broke the shoes and had to pay for them. They now sit on my sill at ‘home’. I planted Cacti in them…(Cacti are excellent plant substitutes for a woman on the go).

We took an early breakfast in the hotel. Toasted Blueberry Muffins and OhJay because he had to get back. Taxi came. MR went. Le Sigh.

The cab came to fetch me four hours later. I get to THEOFFICE, today this is the top floor of a converted warehouse. I dislike the elevator, since being trapped in one at the age of six I have an irrational fear of strip lighting and the scent of urine. But I braved the beast, being careful my heal didn’t get stuck in the grille. I stood on point the entire journey upwards. On exit six mountainous creatures awaited me, all of whom commented on my blue suede Shoes. “Uh huh huh.”

Coffee break time came and went. As noted, this is my favorite part of the day. Except today. Except today. Everyone was ‘too busy’. My head was pounding, and only Miss LimeGreenPinnafore with her need for clean tables and her diabolically wonderful coffee could have possibly sorted me out. The healthy breakfast of muffins and juice (MR doesn’t drink coffee so when I am around him, neither do I) had taken its toll: five hours, no caffine, makes Missy a mess. Still, even the Caffine Shack was too far away. Instant. That’s what it had to be. And not an intern to be found.

Ever seen a woman growl?

In a bid for freedom I decided to fetch coffee(s) for the gathered mob, not the normal state of the nation, but I needed space. Ten or so people scratched their heads and wondered out loud if they were allowed caffine on whatever current diet they are on. Three finally raised their hands (one of whom I knew would, as her current diet is ‘Caffine only’ – rather her than me. She’s lost 10 pounds through insomnia alone).

One demands vitamin water. I remind them I not an intern, I’m offering out of the charity of my ample breast, not any bid for subservience and then politely told them to drink their own urine, “It’s full of nutrients,” I said, guarantee three of them at least will try it that evening. “I’m going for CoffeeCoffeeCoffee. If you want water, it comes from the tap.” I said and tottered out of the building in my heals.

I brought a jar of Nescafe Head Exploder and some cigarettes and headed back. In my heals. My lovely heals. My lovely lovely heals. Le Sigh.

It was then my cell began to ring. I looked at the display, ‘Private’, so I ignored it, and slipped it in the niche of my underarm while I negotiated the jar of HeadExpolder, the Tarsticks and the industrial locking mechanism of the warehouse door.

I wondered absently whether I was actually going to smoke one of the Tarsticks I had purchased (I buy a packet a week as a comfort but rarely, if ever, smoke one).

The “canteen” for this converted warehouse is on the bottom floor. When I say canteen I mean a table with used stirrers and a domestic abuse victim of a kettle, laced with so much limescale you could carve an Adonis out of it and sell it to the Tate. The discarded cups around it were last washed when Twiggy still hadn’t any hips. I ‘do the honors’: Three steaming cups of instant joy in hand I return to the elevator to find it has finally run its last journey and refuses to move. Share and enjoy? As a claustrophobe I am not disappointed, then I realise:

Six flights of stairs.

Three Cups of coffee.

One pair of Five Inch healed Blue Suede Shoes.

Oh… and a grey pencil skirt.

“LOGISTICALLY UNSOUND IDEA.” My pursemonster Brian would have said, if he had been there (I hadn’t intended to be long so my purse was upstairs)

Three cups of coffee quickly becomes one. The two people who ordered would have to make do with chewing on napkins. I was considering how good this climb would be for my core muscles and my ass while I carefully negotiated each step in my pencil skirt and five inch heals, a golden chalice of Nescafe in one hand and my packet of Cancer in the other.

Then, midway between the third and forth floor, my phone rings; the phone I had put under my arm, the phone on vibrate, the phone that sends a very surprising hum down my arm all the way to the remaining cup of steaming hot coffee, the iPhone that iCost me a small fortune and I am desperate not to drop down three flights of concrete steps. The result of which is that the coffee, which I was desperate to protect from my white shirt, spilt on the concrete floor because I stumbled and threw out my arms in order to stop my face from breaking.

The face thankfully did not break.

The shoes, however were not so fortunate.

Rest In Peace Blue Suede Shoes.

You have served me well.

I smoked a cigarette on the steps in their honor. Finally answering my phone (third redial, it must be important) when due respects have been paid.

The call, as it turns out, was from someone trying to sell me insurance. They are now blacklisted; and I am sending them the bill for my shoes being rehealed…which makes me feel a little better.