Every time. Every single time. Every single time I have to go out for a drink, I have to do the same little mental dance. Except the rare occasions where I am visiting my crappy neighbourhood bar, expensive, ugly and loud, which is just across the street from my place.
Drive? Or walk? Shoes? Heels? Timing? I am running late already- the walk downtown, or the North End where a couple of other very nice little bars are tucked away- is slightly over 25 min, and I will arrive sweaty and breathless. But then I can drink as much as I like. But then I will have to wear ugly no-heel shoes- or maybe just walk in my high-heeled clogs? But they are not as comfortable as I like to pretend they are, and the last time I walked downtown in them, I was left with bleeding toes and a very weird, large, mauve blister on the edge of my left foot which freaks out and delights my children. I should probably charge for showing it. It shows no sign of fading. Yesterday I walked downtown and back in cushion-soled sandals with a short heel, more of a gentle slope really, and the balls of my feet were burning by the time I got home, I was practically, no literally actually, the little mermaid changed into a human, feeling the sensation of walking on knives at every step, suffering for a ridiculously stupid cause. I might as well come clean and admit there are no heels suitable for walking more than 5 minutes, and if I want to walk, I should wear sneakers or if the weather is nice, as it is more and more these days, the ugly thick plastic “Nader” and yet unbelievably comfortable orthopaedic slippers I buy from Tehran and lie dotted around my home. Maybe Ariel should have invested in a pair of those before signing off with Ursula, the ignorant bitch.
Drive then- I will be there in 5 minutes, but ughhhhhh parking ughghg downtown parking, again probably end up walking 10 min from the car to the bar, still late, still with aching feet. But no blisters and no sweat. But then I can’t drink, or maybe I will have one drink, and feel paranoid and guilty about it. The last time I decided to drive – no the time before that- I had one cider and it went straight to my head, I could barely pretend to be sober in front of my friend. I wobbled to the car and thought oh god if I get home safely I swear never to drink and drive again. I got home safely and the next time I went out –I drove again because I was running late and really wanted to wear high heels, double reasons- also because I don’t believe in god. It was happy hour and the Guinness was $3.50 a pint, the cheapest I have ever seen, and I wailed with sorrow and frustration that I can only have one- I wanted to drown myself in Guinness, literally. I beat my breast with remorse at my decision to drive, and vowed next time I will walk to that bar downtown where Guinness in $3.50 a pint during Happy Hour. Heels be damned.



One comment

  1. I thought people in Halifax ride their horses to get to the pub ? It is less expensive than a taxi and one arrives less exhausted than on a bicycle.

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