The Tale of the "Trial" Skinny Jeans...

It's been a bit since my last Tale From the Hanger, so I figured I'd indulge you with this one. It's an oldie, but a goodie. 

January 2008: Nashville, TN. 

Skinny jeans had become a big trend, but I was definitely not too eager to jump on them quite yet. Over Christmas break, I decided to try them out, a "trial" pair. I'm only 5'4, and playing volleyball for years doesn't make me have birdlike legs...so I was terrified of looking shorter and squatty...So I decided to buy a mid-range brand of skinny jeans to see how much I liked them. Well, in case you're wondering, I now own about 10 pair of skinny pants...the "trial" pair worked!

These "trial" skinnies were super dark wash denim, perfect for going out. Nashville in January is FRIGID, the kind of cold that seeps into your bones and never seems to go away no matter how many layers you stack on.

This particular story begins with one frigid night, and a pub crawl. I don't know what it is about the cold weather, but it seems to make people drink more...This night was one of those "drink more to stay warm" nights, and me and the girls were on a mission to stay warm. I paired the "trial" skinnies with some gorgeous gorgeous bone colored heels, and a matching bone colored cashmere v-neck, a warm scarf, and no jacket (I hate schlepping jackets around bars).  We went to our favorite Irish bar, and began the festivities. A good friend of mine from Texas was out, and he is really such a nice young man. "George" came with us to the next few bars, being his normal nice self. Then things got hazy...and much warmer...

Seems to me that the "warming effect" was also taking hold of dear Georgie, and me, being so focused on keeping the libations flowing, was oblivious to this. Finally, the closing bell rang, and we all shuffled outside to the night which was magically warmer. My friend Sophie had become enamored with a new prospect, and he had offered to drive us home. George also offered a ride, but I declined, saying that I would have to be Sophie's chaperone to make sure her new love wasn't a murderer/psycho. George said he was having an after party at his house, and I told him he could get a pledge to come pick me up at my apartment and I'd come join the party as soon as potential psycho dropped us off. 

We got into potential psycho's car, and here is where it gets funny. I feel the need to protect my girl friends as if they were my own family. I actually really get into it sometimes. To the point of hilarity, some would say.

So, once we buckled up, the interrogations began. Keep in mind, I had been ingesting copious amounts "magic warming juice", so my questions were a bit more probing than I would usually venture to ask. Turns out, Sophie was actually going to go home with the chap and "watch a movie" so I felt the need to ask as many questions as possible should I have to be a witness in a murder/kidnapping case, or call the police. I had already told him I memorized his license plate number (pshhh...yeah right), I asked him for his social security number, I checked his name against his ID, a credit card, and asked to see his major league baseball card (he was a pro baseball player), I also asked several questions regarding any potential criminal record, threatened his life several times, and told him I had "people" in the FBI and CIA (all completely untrue). Once I realized that there was no way Sophie was going to stay with me, I gave up and gave him a menacing glare as they drove off...Sophie later told me that the poor guy (who she actually ended up dating for a while!) was kind of terrified of me...I play "mean cop" really well...

George had sent a pledge to pick me up, and BY CAR the drive is only about 3-5 minutes down one street. George lived off the main street in Nashville, comparable to a "Main Street" if you will. It's always very busy, and there are always many police officers scouting for DUI's, speeding etc. etc. I lived off the same street, only about 2 miles down. The pledge dropped me off, and I was suddenly very perplexed. I didn't hear "party" noises. I shuffled up to the front door, made sure I was at the right house, and meekly knocked. It was FRIGID, and I started pounding...soon enough, George opened up....to a pitch black house. 

"Um...George, I thought you were having a party? Where are your roommates? Where's the party?"

"Oh...well, I guess no one ended up showing up...it's just the two of us..""

OH.DEAR.GOD.

I had been tricked. trapped. ensnared. George had lured me into his mantrap, and I needed to escape. He inched closer, and closer, and I panicked. I spastically jerked around him, and locked myself in the bathroom. Great. Brilliant. It's 3 am....I start dialing numbers. I call every girlfriend and roommate in my phone, no answer. Of course. I unlock the bathroom door, peek my head out, and am once again accosted by George. I was starting to get annoyed. I needed a way out. I had no idea the "trial" skinnies would be so alluring. 

I asked George to please drive me home. He said he couldn't because he was too drunk. Strike One. 

I asked George to call the pledge and tell him to come pick me up and drive me home. He said pledges were off duty after 3 am. Strike Two. 

George suggests I take a cab. Morsel of Knowledge: I despise cabs. Especially when I've been drinking, I don't know why, but I refuse to take cabs by myself late at night. Maybe because Nashville was notorious for rapist cab drivers and crazy cab drivers in general. After you've been pulled over for 2 hours because your cabbie is illegally in the country, then you'll understand. 

I tell George I hate cabs, plus I don't have cash anymore so I'm not about to take a cab. Strike Three. 

I ask George to give me a coat. He looks confused, but I'm out of creative ways to get home short of conjuring up a magic carpet. He hands me the coat, looking puzzled, and I BOLT. QUICKLY. I slammed the front door behind me, leaving behind a very confused George, and I tear down the sidewalk in my skinnies. The sidewalk down to the main street had a couple stairs, which I flew down, but I didn't notice the half-covered man-hole. And then....

I fell into the man-hole. Hard. Extremely un-gracefully.  I had one leg in the man-hole, up to my waist (thank the sweet sweet Lord it wasn't full of sewage) and the other leg was half in, half twisted above the man-hole. I was face-down on concrete. What did I do? I FLEW up, and RAN. Don't ask me how I got out, or how I got up, but I did, and I ran...two miles... in the freezing wee hours of the morning...in heels...with a large man-coat. I don't understand how a cop didn't see me, but it must have been the light speed I was sprinting at. 

I text messaged about 10 friends saying this (this is literally what I wrote) "FELL IN A DITCH...LURKS REAL BAD" translation: fell in a ditch, hurts real bad. 

I flew into my building, tore into my apartment, stood in the hallway, and tore my skinnies off...just as my roommate's "man-friend" "Billy" walked out of her room. I'm standing in my undies and a sweater, freezing. Poor "Billy" had the deer in headlights look, and then he looked down at my ankle...which was bleeding...profusely. Cora, my roommate came out in a robe, screeched at my ankle, and told me I needed to get help. I told her I was fine... I was actually laughing about it somehow, but she forced me into the shower where she poured peroxide and I laughed and told her she was "being silly". I clambered into bed in my undies and sweater to pass out. 

9 am. I wake up, feeling great! (This was back when I didn't know what a hangover was...yeah I was one of those lucky folk who never got hangovers...till a year ago) I bounce out of bed and SCREAM BLOODY MURDER. WHY was I in blinding pain, and WHY was my ankle the size of a ripe orange??? Oh wait, why did I have a huge scrape across my chest? Why did I have a GASH across my right ankle? It all came back...slowly and painfully. George and his wily trick to lure me back had caused me to look like I had been tossed off the back of an 18 wheeler into oncoming traffic. 

Sidenote: I'm terrified of doctors and needles, so unless I'm about to lose an appendage or near death, I refuse to see a doctor. 

So, instead of going to the doctor and getting a tetanus shot (thank goodness I didn't end up NEEDING to have one) and stitches, I laid in agony on the couch all day. My mother screamed at me after I sent her a picture over the phone, and told me to go to the doctor immediately. I refused. The swelling finally came down about 2 days later, but I still have a scar on my ankle, and the skinnies have a hole in the ankle where my heel went through them...so both of us experienced the terror of nearly falling completely into a man-hole/sewer. 

We'll definitely never be the same, we've got the scars to prove it. 

Moral of the Story: Beware of sneaky, wily "Georges", when in need, GO TO THE DOCTOR, and never strip down into your underwear until you're positive there are no randoms in the vicinity.