There's a preface to this entire article and it starts with a story. Two days ago, I was walking down an underpass of concrete stairs, I was in four-inch heels. I didn't need to be in four-inch heels but if you put business casual on the invite, I will deliver with business casual and then some, bitch.

In reality, I am fairly short. I stopped growing in, like, sixth grade, so I can't wait to be 5'2" for the literal rest of my entire life. Honestly, it's been an interesting dynamic already being so close to the ground.

You don't really have far to fall when you're five feet, it's not that high. But add four inches and I swear it is a different world, entirely. You can reach higher shelves, you can see across parking lots, people don't shove you as often.

It's really nice to be average height, so that's why I decided to wear four-inch heels and I was walking. I was walking with way too much confidence in my person, I had listened to Ariana Grande and I thought I could rule the world.

I was walking down the underpass, it's all concrete but I'm just thinking how dope my long pants and four-inch heeled boots look, hyped by Ari's confident notes in "7 Rings." But friends, that overconfidence cost me and I felt the exact moment when it did. My right foot suddenly slipped out from under me and in my head that was it.

That was how I knew I fucked up.

Suddenly, my whole body was thumped across the stairs like an ugly rag doll. I kept my eyes closed, full of regret and praying that the people around me would just ignore how I was splayed out all over the steps, but we're in the Midwest. A sweet suburban mom stopped and gave me an ope, and asked if I was okay.

My eyes flew open, staring directly at the ceiling of the underpass, focusing on a hornet's nest, feeling so much dread at the necessity of answering her question. I looked up, and I just begged her to leave me there, "Please. Please, I just need to be right here for a minute. I wanted this."

She told me not to be embarrassed if I was hurt, just to tell her. How was I supposed to tell her the hurt was my embarrassment? Also the scrape on my elbow and general soreness of hitting concrete steps, but pride took the hardest fall from grace.

I waited until she left to sit up, also to take the above photo because I did not want to let myself forget this feeling.

I remember when I was a kid, my ass would always fall. I fell twice off the playground at my elementary school and knocked the wind out of myself. Twice. In middle school, I fell three times in the span of a year and twisted my ankle all three times.

High school, gave myself a concussion in an upstairs hallway when I was one hundred percent alone. I am prone to accidents, so I was prepared to fall.

I knew the fall was coming and it wasn't the shock of the fall that hurt my ego, or even that people had seen. That did help hurt me, don't you worry. But I guess just that initial bounce back that has faded over time and time again of eating shit, I really miss that. I feel like a rubber band that got stretched out way too far and then left in the fading sun.

Don't get old and don't fall on concrete steps.