Here you’ll find a meandering tale that’s apropos of something. God willing. And if it turns out that it’s not, at least it’s pretty short.
Yesterday I attended a meeting where a woman read through a stack of papers and dropped each page as she finished it. The pages sailed to the ground, and several landed on her high-heeled left shoe. And what did she do? She left those pages there atop her shoe as she read. For 30 minutes. I’ll admit, I had trouble focusing on what she was saying. It was all I could do to not leap up, gather the papers into a stack, and set them back on the table.
Free the high-heeled left shoe! Jesus.
One of my neighbors is a distinguished-looking guy of around 50. He drives a babemobile and wears sunglasses even at dusk. Every few days he has a new female companion who looks to be around 22. The gal in question is always in a short skirt and spike heels. On two occasions I’ve followed him and his gal pal down the stairs as she wobbles and he holds her arm to guide her. He talks each of the gals through the stair-stepping process (“careful now … there you go!”), and she whimpers in response.
Walking in heels is hard! Unless you’re Jennifer Beals.
Remember the scene in Flashdance where Jennifer Beals races her Boyfriend Boss up a set of stairs? She’s in stripper shoes, and he’s wearing whatever shoes men wear, and when he finally makes it to the top-floor landing he finds her drinking a beer and filing her nails. “That beer looks good,” he says before he grabs his chest and collapses. In the next scene, he’s being treated in the ER for a heart attack. The ER doc tells Jennifer Beals that her Boyfriend Boss’ survival chances are slim, and, angry, frightened, she bursts into his room and does a kick-ass breakdance routine, careful not to snag his life-support wires as she does the windmill.
Boyfriend Boss: That was dope, Jennifer Beals.
Jennifer Beals: You’re alive!
Boyfriend Boss: Yes. Because of you. Because of the breakdancing.
ER Doc: Jennifer Beals, you should enroll in a performing arts school, stat.
[cue Irene Cara closing music]
And that, folks, is apropos of something. Isn’t it?
