Well, lucky for me, Alexander had it all figured out. On the night before he was to leave, he told me was going to get settled in but hoped that the following weekend, I would fly out to meet him with the plane ticket he had already bought for me. Yes, even me - potentially the most jaded, glass-is-half-empty kinda girl squealed in excitement and then got down to business.....I had nothing to wear for a whirlwind weekend with the man of my dreams...next stop, Nordstroms!
As I wandered around the shoe department debating which shoe would be the cutest but cause me the least amount of pain as we toured the Nations Capitol, a very nice salesperson, Lizzie, asked if she could help. Perhaps you've noticed that I'm not really one to hold much back so I blurted out my life story, my need for cute weekend worthy wear that would look like I made no effort but look gooood. Izzy was a dream. She grabbed stuff from every department, shoes, jeans, shirts, casual little jackets, accessories...it was heaven. We settled on a number of outfits and the most fabulous pair of red shoes (click the title of this blog and it should take you to a picture of them, you know, if you want the full effect). We worked a dinner date night outfit around those shoes which was good because Alexander emailed me to say he made us Saturday night dinner reservations. A little internet research on my part revealed it to be cozy and romantic. Yes, there was more excited squealing when I discovered that.
Izzy wished me luck and made me promise to return and tell her all about it.
Off I flew and our dinner night arrived. I applied make-up (yes, more than mascara and chapstick), flat ironed my hair, wore a simple black skirt, slightly ruffled trendy one-shouldered top, and slipped into my fabulous shoes. We took the metro to our restaurant stop (I know, it sounds so big city chic and I was feeling awesome. I mean, maybe fabulous things like this do happen to me and why shouldn't they?!?). Head high, full of confidence and excitement, Alexander and I started to cross the busy street to our restaurant when i strutted myself right off the curb, stumbled, and fell into the gutter. Alexander hadn't noticed and kept walking, thank goodness for that, so I popped up just as he turned back to see where I was.
"What happened, are you ok?" he asks. "What do you mean, what happened, I'm fine" is my overly eager response. Meanwhile my hand is aching (along with my ego), I just know the wet spot I feel on my thigh from the gutter has to be some homeless guy's urine, and my adorable pumps are scuffed and torn but I'm still thinking I can recover from this because he didn't see anything, right? Wrong, this is me.
"I'm wondering because there are leaves plastered all along your left side, there is some sort of water dripping down your leg and your hand that I'm holding appears to have gravel stuck to your palm. Also, your shoes are wrecked." Crap, so much for a grand cover up. I tell him what happen, we laugh, I get cleaned up in the bathroom and we proceed to have one of the best meals of my life. I leave knowing that Alexander and I will be fine for the next 60 days.
Upon my return to New England, I return to Nordstrom's to tell my tale of woe to Izzy. I bring my battered shoes with me but when I see her, she's so excited and wants everything to have gone wonderfully, I couldn't bear to tell her about the fall so all I say is, "the shoes didn't quite work out". She looks at them, looks at me... smiles and asks if I would like another pair or a refund.
Ah, dreams do come true right here in this little piece of heaven called Nordstrom.
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