The blue shoe break-in

So this has happened twice already this year. I’m rushing out of the flat in heels that I shouldn’t really be allowed to wear and a dress held together by a wing and a prayer with a purse that can fit in 3 cards and a lipstick when…..I close the door and the keys are on the inside.

The first two times I called a locksmiths and paid dearly for the privilege. But this time my precious I had a vision of Simon’s, my bank manager’s, stern face. Could I afford another £82 error in organisation.

There was nothing but for me to break into my own flat. Now, normally I would be in a short dress which allows for an easier climb but who told me to go for the long silk number with 3 layers of silk to battle with and my Carvela heels? It was going to be…. A challenge.

I walk to the back of the property and I scope the wall. I look at my nails, kiss them goodbye and contemplate how I’m going to do this.  I’m short. The wall is….not short. It is designed to keep out burglars. It is not designed for a silk dress climb. All the time I’m thinking “please universe do not let any of my neighbours report a break in to the po po.” My neighbours are the helpful type.

I attempt the first climb and fail. Some loose tiles on a nearby ledge defeated me and came off in my hands taking out a precious nail. My ring finger. Drat!

But I’m determined. Simon’s face is driving me into action. I try again. My heel scrapes along the wall and a part of me dies inside. I love my Carvela pumps but without looking I know that they will always bear the wounds of my ditzy moment at the front door.  I take them off and throw them, my phone and my purse into my garden. Don’t worry this blackberry has suffered a lot worse. I go again and manage to make it half way up the wall. With an iron determination I climb the rest of the way into the neighbours more burgler friendly wall and drop into my garden. It seems I have mastered a tuck and roll. Olympics here I come.

Why did I think strapless was a good look?  The zip has given on the back a little. It was already a struggle to get into. One boob has popped out but, no neighbours to see.

I go to my bedroom window and luckily it’s not locked. I pull it open. That was the easy part. It’s not a big window. I now need to roll into said window. Forget the Olympics my tuck and roll into a window needs work. ,

Needless to say I eventually made it in and rescued my house keys. I’m only 10 minutes late for the Nigerian event which was nowhere near starting. It’s a shame because I would have liked to have changed. Instead I arrive looking like I’ve been shagging in a hedge. The wig is skewed, the dress covered in debris… I really need to give that window a good clean.

I felt like crying but, what can one do when one’s makeup is already precariously close to looking slutty. I couldn’t take foundation tears too.  I made it and in the process realised that where there is a will and a silk clad diva my precious, there is a way. And maybe a good reason for me to go to Kurt Geiger tomorrow?



© Chelsea Black


  1. Lool I locked myself out a few weeks ago I was angry that I had to pay for someone to let me back in my own flat and all he was a bit of sandpaper…*smh* I now lock the door when I get in so that I have to have my keys to unlock the door when I am leaving..

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