Why, you ask?
Well, after work I was standing on the uptown C platform, rocking on my heels as a person who very much needs a glass of wine is wont to do, and one of them snapped off.
These boots are from Aerosoles. I bought them in 2006 for $25 on sale and they have served me well, although I can't claim to have reciprocated. Although I am nearly 30, I have yet to enlist a cobbler or tailor to preserve my shoes and clothes; when the hem on a pair of pants gets raggedy I give them to Goodwill or make ill-fitting cut-off shorts, and when a shoe erodes, defeated by my New York power stomping, I toss it in the garbage along with its mate (I feel they need to die together, like a mummified Egyptian prince and all his wordly possessions).
I thought about snapping off the other heel to have a matching pair, but that would have required taking my good boot off (to reveal my rainbow-striped sock) and beating it maniacally against a nearby trash can, thus risking being mistaken for a crazy person... or a Marc Jacobs model.
Luckily, before I could decide what to do a Chinese man started playing a sad song on his flute—it sounded a lot like a requiem for a shoe—and I realized that instead of asking vain questions like "Can I limp all the way back to Brooklyn?" and "What if I run into Chris Noth?" I needed to take a step back and mourn the loss of my pleather boot. Seriously, it was like a shoe funeral. I have at least one witness (I would link to the Chinese flautist but I'm not sure if he blogs.)
I had a totally separate but equally humbling experience on Sunday. Jeff and I had gone to DSW to get him some sneakers and on our way back we stopped at a bodega for a jar of pickles (OUR LIFE IS AWESOME DO NOT BE JEALOUS). As I went to pay for my kosher dills at the cash register, I was confronted with this:
I am a winner, bodega register! You don't know! YOU DON'T KNOW!
I bet that register doesn't know that pickles now have more Facebook fans than Nickelback.* And, by extension, a lot more fans than me, but that's beside the point.
*It was apparently inspired by a similar Facebook page, "Can This Onion Ring Get More Fans Than Justin Bieber." Speaking of J-Bieb, I could totally be his mom. I could have been fifteen and pregnant with a Canadian pop star who looks like Shiloh Jolie-Pitt in a trucker hat. Which nicely rounds out this exercise in humility.
Now where is my fucking wine?