In exasperation (and due to lack of any more time to devote to vanity) I finally settled on a pair of skinny jeans and a sweater. Okay, I thought to myself, as the clock ticked on, I'm ready. I went to go get my shoes, and stopped myself as I faced one last obstacle. I saw my brown boots -- the ones my mom refers to as "bad stripper boots." If you ask her why she calls them that, it's definitely not for any of the reasons you're thinking. But I will say that when I wear them, I sound like a horse. It's probably best not to wear those on a first date. That basically left one option: My brown flats that are falling apart and smell to high heaven. My feet don't even have to sweat in them in order to elicit a stench so rank that it could easily give a teenage boy's room after a male sleepover a run a for its money. GROSS. So there I stood, facing a moral dilemma. Do I wear them, making my outfit complete, but risking the life of my date since he just may drive off the side of the road, asphyxiated by deadly fungal gas? Or do I take pity on an innocent soul (and my unforgiving reputation and dating life) and wear a less than ideal pair of shoes that don't stink? I counseled with my nearby roommate, who has much dating wisdom, and asked her what I should do. She related a dating tale to me, about a time when she wore her favorite black flats that smelled worse than an old pile of dung, and when her date turned on the heater in his car, the smell of her shoe was circulated through the vehicle. Yes, I thought. That's disturbing. But we both sat there, still at odds about what to do. Finally, a lightbulb turned on above my roommate's head, and her face lit up as she began to articulate a solution: "Can I put band-aids in your shoe?" she asked, way too excited for her own good. "Ummmmmm, sure??" I replied, not quite sure where she was going with it. I had to hurry and get my out of control fro tamed before the doorbell rang, so I left my flats in the hands of the Stink Master. When I came back out of my room, I noticed that the inside of my shoe had become completely white. That's some band-aid, I thought. And then I realized what it was. I am not lying. It was a maxi pad. A MAXI PAD. My roommate had found a maxi pad in the drawer, and it was somehow the exact length of my foot, and fit perfectly inside my shoe, in such a way that it prevented any smell from escaping its moldy inner skeleton. "Nooooooooo," I told her, laughing uncontrollably. "Are you serious??" "Wear it! Wear it! Wear it!" she squealed, as her whole body convulsed in giggles. With only 60 seconds to go until my date arrived, I made a rash decision and said, "Okay." I would wear the maxi pad. I slipped on my flat (because the maxi pad was only in one shoe) and just as I did, the doorbell rang. And I walked out into the living room, a little bounce in my step as I enjoyed all the comfort and arch support that a pad has to offer.
Later on in the date, we were sitting in the auditorium waiting for the concert to start. I had my legs crossed, and my foot dangling near my date. Out of habit, I slipped my heal out of my shoe and let it dangle from my foot as I bounced my leg. When I did so, I caught a flash of white out of the corner of my eye and gasped as I remembered the maxi pad lining the bottom of my flat. And then I started laughing. I think my date thought his joke was funny. Little did he know...LITTLE did he know.
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