Bitcherella

I should divulge that as I am writing this I am heavily sedated and running on about 2.4 hours of sleep. I have just settled into my hotel in Edinburgh and it is so gorgeous. From our room we have view of the Edinburgh castle, green bluffs and the ocean. It’s pretty spectacular. It is even more spectacular that I managed to make it here on time… I always have envisioned myself having a princess moment in Europe. Today that dream came true. I was a heavily drugged, pajama wearing, American Cinderella schlepping through Heathrow airport searching for my glass slipper aka my Missoni clog. Being the genius that I am, I had already gone through security check at WRONG terminal when I realized I was missing something. With my suitcase weighing a practical 68 pounds, I was forced to remove some items at check-in and throw them in my carry on. One of the items being a (singular) Missoni clog. One of my newest purchases and my most comfortable shoe at the moment. Anyways… after I realized I was missing one shoe, I ran to the service desk and demanded they hold that plane! With passengers already starting to board and my beloved clog hidden under some god forsaken economy seat, drastic measures needed to be taken. The woman helping me looked at me with pity and let me know the plane was already boarding and they would not be able to look for my shoe until they reached their next destination. I don’t think so bitch. Maybe it was the Xanax, maybe it was the lack of sleep or maybe it was genuine desperation but I immediately started HYSTERICALLY crying. “I NEED THAT SHOE” “It was my GRANDMOTHER’S” ” I CANNOT go on without it” “It’s so sentimental.” “They are one of a KIND!!” (all things I actually said) After more crocodile tears and a few frantic phone calls, a security cart drove up and motioned me to get in. As I gathered myself, I got in my version of a horse drawn carriage (golf cart) and headed to the terminal. I was then escorted by security onto the plane to crawl on all fours under passengers limbs to find my fucking shoe. After stalling boarding and creating quite the scene, I found my glass slipper (clog) and had to go through security check for 3rd time. I was the last person to board my connecting flight, my name was announced over the PA system which I thought was very chic (Baby likes a grand entrance)and we all lived happily ever after.

I’ve got some chutzpah publishing a video with me looking this beat.

Haute Mess Lesson: Better to miss aΒ flightΒ than miss aΒ shoe..

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