The first night in New Orleans after getting pelted in the face by errant beads (They throw those things HARD and most of the time they seem to be aimed right at your head..) and failing to solve the whodunit of who stole the vodka from the house, we headed out to a couple bars.
The first one was a bust- we did the electric slide and moved on. The next one had the longest line for food I have ever seen in my life but we were hungry so we sent a representative to get us some pizza. While waiting for the slowest pizza ever made (They must have been tossing that dough in slow-mo because how hard is it to throw some sauce and cheese on a piece of bread?), we had the pleasure of meeting a really horrifying man who told us we were "aesthetically pleasing" (direct quote) and then offered to do some dirty things to us for hours if we would drive him home/ let him hang out with us. Answer? No, and now we know why your friends left you here in the first place.
Inevitably, as you know if you've ever spent more then 15 minutes with me, I had to go to the bathroom. As I sashayed my semi- drunk butt down the stairs in my cute little crop top and sexy cowboy boots, (Word to the wise- never wear such items to Bourbon street during Mardi Gras. It will only bring heartbreak and unwanted hands on your body parts.) something mysterious and terrible happened.
There was either
A. a wet spot on the ridiculously narrow and steep staircase
B. a tiny little demon who grabbed my ankle (This is the one I'm voting for...)
or C. which is totally less likely but I'll admit MAY HAVE BEEN possible- I temporarily lost the ability to put one foot in front of the other (also known as reason #456 why I never wear heels).
Either way, IT HAD NOTHING TO DO WITH THE ALCOHOL OKAY?
Oh, what happened next you ask? Yes, I did go tumbling down the stairs in front of a packed bar. Thank you for your concern. It hurt, I was embarrassed, the person who had previously been walking downstairs with me vanished, probably to politely laugh their ass off behind my back, and I hobbled over to a bench at the bottom of the stairs. Which now that I think about it, was probably put there for moments just like this one.
The best part of all this? Some guy took this opportunity to hit on me. I guess it makes sense- try to pick her up when she's down.