As I was driving around Los Angeles, looking for a new place to dine, I noticed an empty but muddy baseball field. Having some time to kill, I impulsively made a U-turn and drove into the parking lot. It had rained earlier that day so I was inclined to test my boots in some thick sludge. Now I had the perfect opportunity. I walked across the wet grass, towards the glistening dark clay, searching for a deep puddle to stroll through.
I could see the off-white baseball diamonds mounted on the beige dirt, stained from the rain. I continued to tread across the field as the earth beneath me became damp and soft. The grass soon turned into a wet, slimy slop causing my heels to sink through the soil.
The watery mire swallowed the tip of my boot with ease. I could feel the liquid trickle through the seam of my shoes, wetting my toes and fishnet stockings.
I moved over towards what appeared to be solid ground, only to find a thickening mass waiting for me.
My heels stood no chance of staying above surface. They instantly punctured through the dough like mud.
Under the weight of my body, my boots were forced into the concealed muck.
With nothing to hold onto and no stable foundation to stand on, I teetered and fell to my knees. The cold quagmire cushioned my legs as I sunk into the ground. Distressed from my current position, I struggled to remove the saturated dirt. But the more I squirmed, the deeper I sank into the clinging clay.
The dense mud immediately caked onto my knees and heels.
Embarrassed from having fallen on all fours, I cautiously stood up. Hoping to wash off the remaining mud, I sauntered towards the only available water source from an awaiting puddle.
The rain filled pond was deeper than I had imagined, covering my feet. The water penetrated through the leather, soaking the inside of my boots.
I tried to kick off the mud but only doused what remained of the dry leather. Drops of water rained down me, filling my boots and wetting my legs.
Defeated, I headed back onto concrete land.
In all the commotion, I accidentally tore my fishnet stockings, so I decided to rip them some more.
Having enough, I realized I was late for my dinner appointment. I had been so engrossed in my escapade that I forgot to find a place to eat. Being already late, I rushed to dinner, failing to remember to stop at home. After confirming my destination, I arrived at the restaurant lobby only to receive astonished stares. “Should I stay and proceed to dinner or should I retreat home and change?” Knowing that the other patrons disapproved of my attire, I could not suppress the devil within.
In my muddy boots and torn fishnets, I stayed for dinner…