I used to write a lot about how odd and hilarious (well, hilarious in retrospect) things regularly happen to me and my twin sister, Joy.
How we sometimes think we’re on The Truman Show and situations have been specifically planted in our lives for audiences’ viewing pleasure.
Like when Joy had to return an air mattress to Wal Mart because it was too short in length.
It was bought specifically for our visiting guy friend (who wasn’t THAT tall) to sleep on for a few days, but his calves hung over the edge of the mattress nightly.
But when Joy brought the mattress back to Wal Mart, a dwarf person was working the customer service counter and Joy struggled to explain that the problem was that the mattress was too short.
She ended up with a very eloquent, “It...er...well, it doesn’t fit a normal-sized person” and then she left red-faced, much more embarrassed than the dwarf person, who didn’t even really need a reason for returning.
I took one for The Truman Show team last week when I was at a work thing with a photographer taking photos of a large group of men for a newspaper spread, and my shoe broke.
Broke badly. Not just a heel...but the single strap that kept the shoe on my foot broke.
WHILE THEY WERE ALL STARING RIGHT AT ME, POSING FOR THE PHOTO.
I didn’t know what to do, so I pretended nothing happened at all and raised one foot up like a flamingo (only less gracefully) and stood one-legged as the photographer kept snapping pictures, my lone abandoned shoe on the ground.
And no one said anything!!
Not one person said anything!!!
Not when I stood one-footed in the hot concrete parking lot, not when I scooped up my shoe from the ground after the shoot was over, not after I had to transfer my shoe to the other hand in order to shake the hand of the president of the company.
Nice to meet you sir!!!
Not when I hobbled one-footed back to my car on tiptoe, the hot concrete scorching the delicate pad of my foot.
“No one helped you??” my aunt asked when I recapped my day to her on the phone.
“No,” I said. “No one even mentioned it!”
“There were 20 guys there and not ONE of them helped you when your shoe broke???” she said. “Well, that’s ridiculous!”
“What were they supposed to do? Give me a piggyback ride?” I asked. “It was pretty much the most unprofessional thing that could have happened. Maybe they were just being nice to ignore it.”
“You know, men don’t even notice women’s shoes,” my mom pointed out. “I bet they didn’t even notice that you weren’t wearing one.”
Maybe she was right. It was strange that no one said anything.
No one even laughed!
I DON’T KNOW WHY THESE THINGS HAPPEN TO ME.
THIS IS WHY I HAVE A WINE ADDICTION.
But I guess that’s just the title of this episode of The Truman Show: How I burned the bottom of my foot in a parking lot with nearly two dozen men as witnesses.
Also, when in doubt...offer a girl a piggyback ride.