As a student, most of my weekends are spent in a typical fashion, either being slightly (not so slightly) intoxicated and/or recovering. I’d like to go back to October which I can proudly say is that last time I’ve had one of “those” nights. After a bottle of wine and reeking havoc on the subway, my friends and I (a large group of intoxicated girls) arrive at the bar. Whether I got into the bar, is irrelevant, but what happened after is the entertaining part. As we are walking back from the bar to visit the usual Smoke’s Poutine, I’m walking arm and arm with my friend, my six inch heels (go big or go home ladies) get caught in a streetcar track, and inevitably I go down. Now, I don’t simply just fall down onto the street, being arm and arm with my friend means I pulled her entire body on top of me while falling and of course twisted my ankle. Not to mention, I took my tumble in front of a police car who saw my obvious distress and put the sirens on, and drove over to my rescue. Im crying my eyes out on the street, have holes in my pants from falling, meanwhile my friends are shushing me so I don’t make an even bigger scene (the cops are already involved people this can’t escalate any further). My friends soberly confirm to the police men that I’m ok and its just a slight injury. Slight, as in my ankle is the size of baseball. Its clear now that I’m in a lot of pain, but you cannot come between a girl and her poutine on a night out. So, of course I hobble on down and get my poutine (rightfully so), and then let my friends half carry me, half shuffle me on our long commute home.
Waking up the next morning, I knew I was in trouble. Not only was my ankle every colour of the rainbow, but I kept hearing my mother’s nagging voice in my head “You’ll kill yourself in those shoes, one wrong step and your career’s over!”. To explain why my career would be in danger, its because I am a dancer. I’m in a university dance program, dance is my life. So it was a bit troubling that I could not walk at all, but I was also thinking, what in the world am I going to tell my professors? I made some ridiculous story about soberly falling off a curb and I had a doctors note to enable my non-participation in class for a few days while I recovered. It healed pretty fast, and my ankle is as good as new, but I can assure you I have not been that irresponsible since, well at least not in heels anyways.
PS this was back when I was single and not worrying about employment,