Stilettos Can Be A Girls Best Friend

It began well, perfect hair, perfect make-up and this super hot dress. We had reservations at Morton's Steakhouse in Portland.

We pulled up to the valet. He seemed like a nice young man and was well mannered and polite. I always go for the valet parking, not just because I spent a heck of a lot of money on my car, but because I love it. It's not going to sit in a lot so some moron can ding the door or so a drunken bum can pee on it.

I should have caught a clue when the valet didn't open my door. Whatever. I was ready to chill with a few Tanqueray 10 and tonics with a twist of lime and some Oysters Rockefeller. It was a night I'd been waiting for all week, no kids, great food and fantastic ambiance.

The evening was going very well until a couple brought a in a baby. Seriously, who in the hell takes a baby to Morton's, a screaming baby at that? Oh well, bring me another Tanq 10 and tonic and the screaming baby would fade into the background and I wouldn't end up telling the mentally challenged parents what idiots they were. Take the screamer to McDonalds for heaven's sake!

After enjoying a 3 hour dinner with T&T in hand, Filet Oskar and Creme Brulee it was time to call it a night. We went to retrieve my car. It was the perfect Portland evening and would have been an incredible walk the city night, that would be if I could walk after all the premium gin. The answer to that would be a big NO.


The valet promptly brought my car and opened my door so my friend could pour me in. Kid was on top of it now. Or at least I thought he was until he SLAMMED the door on my Mercedes! BIG pet peeve of mine thanks to my Dad. We grew up hearing "It's not an American car. You don't have to slam the door."

We also learned that if we slammed the car door, or any door for that matter, it must mean that we needed practice in learning to properly close a door. We would have to correctly close the door 30 times, one screw up and we had to start all over. My brothers are reading this now and nodding their heads in agreement.


My friend must have seen veins popping in my forehead. Just as I was reaching for my right stiletto to beat the valet to death my friend grabbed my twitching arm and demanded something he NEVER demands.

"Take two Xanex and take them now!" He then sped away.


So what you say? Dude only slammed the car door. WRONG! He violated my car! Here it is an hour and a half since we left and I'm contemplating getting in my car and taking my right stiletto back downtown!

Oh, and then get this. I walk in the house still pissed about the valet. My son looks at me and says

"Mom did you wear your hair like that tonight?"

I calmed down a bit feeling all that and said "Yes, why?"

"You look like you have guinea pig hair." Where the hell is my left stiletto?