This afternoon I broke the heel off my shoe. I wasn’t even walking, rather I was simply sitting at my desk and the heel snapped right off. Snapped off my pretty, hot pink, pointy, fabulous shoe. Damn. Weird part is that I wasn’t even mad. I just happily hobbled around all afternoon. Granted, my right calf hurt like hell; yet I wasn’t mad that my lovely shoe was hurt. I blame the damn running for my peace of mind.

All the running in the world can’t make me feel better about a few things though. “Was the weatherman asking us questions? I thought we were gonna get Matt Lauer. We were thrown off that the weatherman was trying to talk to Speidi”. Arrggghhhh. If you want your head to spin, you have to watch the saintly Al Roker interrogate the two-headed moronic monster. How can they possibly think they are ANYTHING? And why do all the other stupid people in America fuel them on? Oh, I must not question such things or my eye will explode.

Me and my broken pink shoe are just going to crawl into bed now and say nice things to each other. Shoe is far less dangerous now that his heel is laying in my handbag. Maybe the stupid people will be quiet in the morning.