I can't help but hear Alanis Morissette singing to me after experiencing irony myself over the weekend. My song is a little different though, it goes like this...

After attending an awesome CEO conference in the back woods of Minnesota, I headed south to Saint Paul to visit with my sister. Work has been crazy with no light at the end of the tunnel for more weeks than I would like to admit, so shopping was the absolute most necessary outlet for me. My sister obliged ... off to tax-free shopping.

First stop, 50th and France. If you have visited Minneapolis, you know what I am talking about. I picked up a yellow cropped jacket (I know, it's a weakness) and a vintage-inspired cream top. (My sister got the same top, too!) Then off to boot shopping. Not shoe shopping, just boots. I was definitely on a mission, after all, it's been 2 or 3 years since I have bought a pair of boots.

Second stop, Southdale Shopping Center. We entered through Macy's...and quickly made a B-line for the shoe department. As luck would have it, boots galore! I truly had a blast. I picked out a tall pair of (can't remember the brand name because I never came across them before) boots in black with a rounded toe and the coolest angled heel ever. Second pair, Elie Tahari boots a little shorter, in black of course, with a fold over and a very interesting medallion on the side. Third pair (if you read Shoo Shoo Foo Foo, then you know all shoe buying comes in threes), Cole Haan below-the-calf, but not quite bootie, boots in black with the most killer hidden platform under the toe but stilletto heel. And what's more fabulous than saving over $100 on my purchase? Totally justifiable.

We headed off to a fabulous dinner at Il Vesco Vino. Then while chatting, walking and opening up the exit door, ker plunk! I fell right out of the door. Who in the world put that step there, seriously...was it really there upon entering the restaurant? I sprained both ankles, one severely. Ouch! I remember laying there curled over for a bit, simply because I could not move my feet.

The next morning, right ankle scratched, the other unrecognizable, my sister drove me to the airport and insisted I be carted off in a wheelchair. Lovely. But honestly, thank goodness for those carts (I ditched the wheelchair once I got passed security and opted for the community cart). I don't think I could have managed otherwise. Once I landed and got home, with the help of my wonderful, but this-incident-has-one-glass-of-wine-too-many-written-all-over-it husband, I slept for an hour and then headed to urgent care. Air cast and crutches later, here I am.

Remember those fabulous boots? What good are they now! Isn't it ironic?

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