The first time I wore heels, I think I accidentally stepped on my date's toe, he told me later, which was either a clever way of saying it wasn't entirely my fault or a desperate coping mechanism. At the time, my knee jarring his foot was just part of the grand gesture, the swishy entrance, the loud clatter of me attempting to balance in a pair too small. He tried to stifle a laugh, failed, and I thought this was either a bad sign or a decent indicator he found me entertaining – at this point, with my ankles throbbing – he just kept smiling and said the view from up here was great. I think.
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