Friday 1 January 2010

A Disastrous Start to the Year




I have always hated New Year celebrations. I believe them to be prescribed fun time; where everyone arrives at certain events with high expectations that can never be lived up to. Prescribed fun time also encompasses birthday parties, proms, balls and weddings but none of these irritate me as much as New Year.


I hate the moment of arriving at an event with the expectation that as soon as you walk through the door, you will be having fun. If you are hosting, I detest the awkward moment of the arrival of early guests expecting you to immediately provide them with the 'fun' they are hoping for.



My boyfriend and I had planned a New Year that was supposed to be just the two of us. We were going to go to a wine bar, stay until late and bring in the New Year with the calmed sense of composure that can only come from having initial low expectations. It was our first date in a long time so I decided to buy myself something special to wear and impress him. We have been dating for longer than I care to remember and are long past the stage of making an effort for each other.




I decided that this had to change and bought a pair of rather expensice and rather high shoes. I love irregular choice and enjoy the compliments and attention that comes from wearing them. They are a purple shoes boot with a spiral heel, 6 inches high and candy coloured laces that finish in elaborate bows. They are not to everybody's taste but for me, they show off my personality perfectly and immediately give me the sense of confidence that only a 6 inch heel can.



We arrived at the wine bar together and were turned away for not purchasing tickets. We wandered aimlessly around the town for a few minutes, deciding what to do with out night and eventually settled on an old English pub that a few of his friends were going to be in.

It was freezing cold inside, even with the cocophony of a throng of people pushing and shoving, desperate to be the next one to be served. There was a band in the corner of the room with a front man who was currently strutting like Jagger to 'Paint it Black', he was roughly the same age but with none of the class, style or poise. Like a car crash, my eyes were drawn to him with the knowledge that the image of him strutting would haunt me forever.



We made our way over to his friends and I settled into my usual shadow role, speaking briefly to the only other girl who was there. A painfully shy girlfriend, Kirsty, who had been dragged along with the promise of an amazing night, which ended up with her sitting alone and being ignored.



The drinks were flowing and I eventually relaxed into the awkward situation, deciding to sulk about my failed date at come other time. The band stopped playing and began the 10 second countdown to the New Year just as my boyfriend arrived back with a tray of fresh drinks for everyone. 12 glasses of Jägerbombs on a silver tray, in the middle of the table, waiting for us to begin 2010 with a bang. I stood up with everyone and unknowingly counted down my last few seconds of dignity. As the clock struck 12, I made my way over to my boyfriend for the traditional New Year kiss. At that moment, the stupid sprial heel of my left foot got caught in one of the stupid candy coloured elaborate bows of my right foot and there was nothing I could do but squeal as I tripped myself down to the floor. I caught the only thing that would stop me hitting my face which unfortunately happened to be the table. 12 glasses of Jägerbomb wobbled and slid off the silver tray and landed in the lap of painfully shy Kirsty.



I stayed on the ground and tried to make myself invisible as I heard the pandemonium that followed: the scream of Kirsty, the roar of laughter, the rush of waitress and Mick Jagger starting up Auld Lang Syne in the background. It was painful mentally, physically and emotionally and not the way I planned to start my 2010.



Lesson learned: Relying on beautiful 6 inch heels to bring you confidence, though good in theory, is ultimately a bad idea. This will end with the theory completely turning itself around and causing you extreme embarrassment as a direct result of said 6 inch heels.

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