Last week I went out with everyone from work to welcome a new hire. I definitely wasn't expecting to end up in the EV at a gay bar with about five of them. Nonetheless, there we were, guys and girls, straight and gay. It was a great time, and I was definitely out past my bedtime for a weekday.
One of my colleagues, a woman named 'Vanessa,' decided it wasn't necessary to keep up her stiletto look, seeing that she was a straight woman in a gay bar, and changed into her flip flops. Fairly appropriate look for the dive bar that we were at I would say.
The next morning at work, she came barreling in the office exclaiming that during this foot attire switch she somehow managed to lose sight of one of her black high heels. She had already scoured her building lobby, called the cab company to report the missing stiletto and called two local precincts to see if it had showed up! I was in stitches as she me told me of all the trouble she was going to in order to track down the missing heel. You can imagine how the conversation with the people on the other end of the line went: "I am calling to see if anyone has turned in one black high heel shoe." "No ma'am, sorry to hear about your loss, we'll keep an ear to the ground should anything show up." [snickering] I think the best was trying to imagine what the guy at the gay bar was going to say when she was planning to call "Yes ma'am, we have a pile of about fifty heels in the back room if you would like to come take a look."
With no luck after all of her efforts, I am now switching my thoughts to a twinky East Village boy, who stumbled across the size ten heel on the street and is now limping around trying to be the best tranny she can be.
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