Cinderella, I am not.

This morning was wet. 
Cold. 
Dreary. 
Walking out to my car at 6:20 a.m. is not really one of my finest moments. My mind is usually preoccupied running through the day's events and whether or not I have forgotten something vital at home. To walk out into pounding rain only complicates matters- will my hair make it uneventfully through the mad dash into the car? Is it raining hard enough to warrant an umbrella? Is it really that cold, or should I unlock the door and run upstairs to grab a coat? 


These are just a handful of the thoughts running through my head as I'm turning over the ignition.


I had parked in front of the house, next to the gutter due to my parent's friends impromptu visit (and consequent parking of their car in my spot on the driveway). I was juggling my work bag, umbrella, bin of pretzels and flower bouquet while simultaneously fishing for the button to unlock the car doors. The moment I was able to dump most items into the back seat, I half sat/half leaned out the driver's side to shake out the raindrops from the umbrella. In the midst of my balancing act, my black flat slipped off my left foot. The foot that was directly over the gaping gutter which was in the midst of collecting a rush of angry water.


My heart stopped.


I could only watch in hopeless anguish as the water continued swirling and my shoe fell less than a foot straight towards the hole where all things go to die.


Maybe it was a miracle. Maybe it was divine intervention. Maybe it was the sheer will of my mental screaming that caused my shoe to stop inches from the wide gap. Whatever the reason, my morning began with a shout of joy and a frantic dive to rescue my beloved leather shoe from nature's elements. Said shoe was carefully positioned back in place, and after an ardent thank you to fate, drove off to work with adrenaline shooting through my veins. It was quite the wake up call.