Recently the British tabloids had a great time making fun of Gerri Halliwell for showing up to a classy Polo event and, upon realizing that the photographers were just around the bend, ducking behind her boyfriend to pull her dress, a see-through white crocheted number, out of her underwear, where it had lodged itself.
Now why she didn't remedy this until she saw phootographers, and why she wore a doily instead of clothes in the first place, is not addressed, but her 'wardrobe malfunction,' and the 'quick fix' of using her boyfriend as a human shield while she adjusted herself (no, seriously, how did this happen and how did you not notice it earlier?) got some attention.
A recent wardrobe malfunction which received less attention, and which was less fixable, in fact unfixable, occurred last week as I was walking around a lake in my home town with my boyfriend. We'd made it almost halfway around the three-ish mile loop when...
...snap. There goes my flip-flop. And not at the point-between-the-toes-that-maybe-you-can-restuff-through-the-styrofoam juncture, no, no my friends, right in the middle of one of the side straps, broken clean through.
Had this breakdown occurred five minutes earlier or just a few minutes later, I would at least have had the benefit of knowing that, either by turning back or forging bravely ahead, I would at least spend less of my walk shoeless than I had shoed. But it didn't. Had I been carrying my purse, I may have had a safety pin that, however so temporarily, solved the problem. But I wasn't. Had I been dating a massive football player with arms the size of my thighs, I could have been romantically carried for some portion of the walk. But I don't.
Gerri Halliwell had the chance to repair herself, and either way, she got loads of press attention. I got scrapes and blisters on the bottoms of my feet, the possibility of ringworm, and weird stares. And I had to buy new flip-flops.
Yet another reason I'm counting the minutes until I can be fodder for the papparazzi...
-Posted by Jilly
Thursday, July 30, 2009
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I have experienced this as well when someone stepped on the back of my sandal on a subway platform so all my flopping was both public and involved a floor about as clean as the inside of a biohazard container. It was not pleasant. I may have contracted the bubonic plague through my exposed foot.
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